


A Ballerina and a Prince

by youlovelucie



Category: British Royalty RPF
Genre: British, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 146
Words: 437,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlovelucie/pseuds/youlovelucie
Summary: Roxy DeLaSearle is one of the newest students at the Royal Ballet Academy.  Her whole life has been leading up to the moment she was accepted into a ballet school and well on her way to becoming a professional dancer.  However, a chance encounter with Prince Harry, and the aftermath, threatens to not only throw off her professional course, but the entire life she envisioned for herself.  Through thick and thin, Roxy must decide if she wants to go back to an anonymous life of normalcy, or keep hanging on.





	1. London Calling

**Author's Note:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

I never meant to get this good at ballet. I mean – I certainly never intended to be bad at it. I just signed up for classes because it was something my older sister, Grace, was doing…and then I kept doing it, even when Grace quit to go to astronaut camp, or scholastic enrichment programs, or tall, blonde, genius conventions, or whatever it was that she was doing that year. And when my parents’ marriage started to dissolve, the dance studio was the only place I could think of where no one was shouting, throwing things, or talking about Grace. Incidentally, Grace always blamed herself for my parents’ divorce, which was a little audacious, if you ask me. Not that anyone has, and not that I’m holding out hope after all these years that anyone _will_. I’m not angry with my parents or my sister. I let go of all of that a long time ago, around the time I was sixteen, and the manager of my studio in a small suburb of New York City asked to speak with me. 

George Melankopis used to work with the New York City Ballet and had retired in Jersey, although I wasn’t sure why. My town was one of those places you hear about in Springsteen songs – very blue collar. Not the place you’d expect to find an ex-ballerina and his stage manager husband. In any event, I was lucky that things had worked out this way, or else he may not have ever opened the South Hills Dance Studio, and I never would have been asked to come to his office on a Saturday afternoon, after I was done teaching the little girls class. Sometimes the teachers, who were out of work dancers, would have auditions and need someone to sub in for a class. I was usually their first call, and to be fair, I was usually available. Dance classes four days a week wasn’t the best way to cultivate a social life. The only friends I had at school were the ones I used to dance with when I was younger, and once you hit puberty, it started to become competitive. It was you against the thousands of other girls who wanted a full ride to Julliard. So no, Friday nights didn’t often find me getting drunk on my mom’s wine coolers with my girlfriends. Usually it was lights-out by eleven and up for Saturday morning conditioning at nine. George and the rest of the instructors had caught onto my lack of social life, and I didn’t mind the extra cash. 

I had been alone with George twice in my life. Once was when I was in the sixth grade and was buying my first pair of pointe shoes, and he was helping me through the process. The other time was during our annual Christmas production of _The Nutcracker_ when I was fourteen, and we both ended up in the wings alone together by coincidence. It was kind of awkward. So when the receptionist (who had been with the studio since before I had started dancing there) poked her head in while the three-year-olds were trying to spin in a circle on their tip-toes, and told me that George wanted to see me, I was a little confused. 

“Do you know what it’s about?” I asked her, turning my head as I tip-toed in a circle in front of the little girls.

“No,” she shrugged, shaking her head.

Immediately, I felt a knot start to twist at the pit of my stomach. Or maybe it was more like a snowball, because it just seemed to keep getting bigger, and heavier. At the end of the lesson, I gave the little girls pink stickers of ballerinas on their hands for their good effort and they squealed with delight as they filed out of the studio. With a gulp, I headed out to the lobby, past the reception desk, and into the back hall. I wasn’t sure why the studio was so oddly configured. I think it used to be an old warehouse of some sort, but for whatever reason, there was a really long, narrow hallway that led to George’s office. He probably had it specifically created that way to up the intimidation factor, since the walls were also plastered with pictures of George leaping across the stage at the Met. On his door was a huge star with his name on it. 

Taking another deep breath, I lifted my fist and knocked on his door. “Come in!” he called, but the cheery note in his voice didn’t make me feel any better. I entered and he looked up from the paperwork he was going over on his desk. As he pushed it away from him with a faux-friendly smile, I noticed that he was looking at costumes for the recital that year. He had a list next to it, and I leaned closer, horrified to read that it was a list of girls who would need to lose weight to fit into the them. “Well hello Ms. DeLaSearle.”

“Hi George,” I greeted him the way he preferred.

“Have a seat,” he instructed. My heart started to pound in my stomach as I did so. I hadn’t seen my name on that list, but I hadn’t gotten a good look at it. It wouldn’t have been the first time that I’d gotten a talking to from a higher-up about the extra inches around my waist, and I really didn’t feel like hearing about it again. More than once, my mother had found me in tears over the pressure to be thinner, and, after she’d ranted about how terrible that was to do to a teenage girl, she’d remind me that in the real world, I was perfectly thin. Ballerinas, however, had a different standard, a fact about which we were reminded _constantly_. Most of the time I just wanted to snap, “I’m Spanish! I eat carbs! I make no apologies!” But so far I’d kept my mouth shut. “It’s come to my attention that this is your junior year of high school,” George started, and then paused.

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything, so I just nodded and let out a weird noise that sounded vaguely like a “yes.”

George planted his elbows on his desk, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on them. “Have you started looking at schools?”

“Colleges?” I asked him. It was a question I’d been asked more and more lately. “Well, I’ve been thinking about Rutgers, TCNJ, of course, somewhere cheap. Or maybe I’d take a year off and work or something,” I started the same bullshit responses I’d been giving everyone else.

George’s eyebrows furrowed and then he smiled, realizing that I didn’t know what he was talking about. “No darling, I’m talking about _academies_.”

It took me a while to realize what he meant. “You mean…like…Julliard?” I asked him.

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Julliard, Russia, Paris, where ever,” he casually listed them, as if he were naming things he needed to pick up at the grocery store. 

I was quiet for a minute, and still, like if I moved too fast, this might all go away. George was suggesting that I look into schools _for dancing_. He was saying that I could dance, _professionally_. “I…haven’t…thought about that,” I answered quietly.

George’s eyebrows rose. “Well what do you think you’ve been doing here for sixteen years?” he asked.

Shrugging I answered honestly, “Dancing. George, I don’t think I’m good enough to be…you know, doing it for _real_.”

He chuckled. “You’ve _been_ doing it ‘for real’ for years! Roxanna, if you weren’t good enough to be here, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be down Route 1 at one of those tacky studios with neon signs next to an Italian deli. But you’re _here_ ,” he meaningfully stabbed his index finger down on his desk. “And if I didn’t think you were good enough, I wouldn’t have called you into my office to tell you to go to a school.”

“But George, I…I don’t have the right body type,” I protested. 

“So you’re an inch or two out on the waist. Nothing a little crash dieting can’t fix.” Crash dieting was, of course, extremely dangerous. Not that something like good health mattered to George. 

I sat in his office looking stunned for a few minutes. The only sounds I could hear were the creaking, rickety sounds of the air conditioner. College wasn’t something I’d spent a lot of time thinking about. Sure, the girls I sat with at lunch would talk about their SAT scores and the colleges they wanted to go to, but my mom was a kindergarten teacher, and my dad had made it pretty clear that he would pay the child support until we were eighteen and that was the last he wanted to do with us. People from towns like mine didn’t go to Europe and become prima ballerinas. They stayed in New Jersey and went to cosmetology school and learned that there was no such thing as too much Aqua Net.

“So…how do I do this?”

When I got home that afternoon, I told my mom what George had told me – that he would contact the people he knew still in the business and set up auditions for me. George would be handling most of the administrative work, and joining me on auditions. We’d take the NJ Transit trains into the City, where I would dance in front of a handful of different recruiters from different schools. Some were right in the City, others were from the west coast, others from Europe, and even some from Asia. On the train back to Jersey, George would give me a play by play of what the recruiters had thought, and what they thought was not always pleasant.

In the fall of my senior year of high school, I auditioned for an elegant looking woman who didn’t show any emotions on her face throughout the entire audition. I watched as she talked in low tones to George after I was done. George glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, nodding. The woman left the room, leaving George and I alone. He turned to me slowly before opening his arms. “Can I hug the newest classmate of the Royal Ballet Academy?”

I practically leapt into him, like I would have done with a pas de deux partner. “What did she say?” I asked, jumping up and down.

George told me about how the woman, Madame Fugere, had offered me a scholarship to the Royal Ballet Academy, which was in Covent Garden. I didn’t know what Covent Garden was, but it sounded quaint, and dancing all day was definitely something I was interested in. George explained it in further detail to my mother, who wasn’t thrilled about me going all the way to England. She came around, however, when George expressed to her how much of an opportunity this was. Besides, she had Grace only a few hours north in Boston studying to become a brain surgeon or a heart surgeon or something. 

So I packed up all of my worldly belongings (which wasn’t that much) and moved across the Atlantic Ocean. My roommate at the RBA was a girl named Bianca, who was an aristocrat, a fact I found out a few weeks into knowing her. She’d left her checkbook out one day and I saw that the ledger was Lady Bianca Winchester. I didn’t know what that meant, but she also had pictures of her house on the wall, and it looked like a castle. Bianca laughed at my American accent and with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and skinny frame, seemed like she’d been born to be a ballerina, unlike me, who was born to be something else and had to try every day to be one. We got along great, and I didn’t find it hard to be happy in a place where I got to dance all day. Every day I woke up thinking, _I’m in London!_ I’d grown up outside of New York City, but London was quickly becoming my favorite city in the world.

To Bianca, however, every day was not waking up in a modern day fairy tale. She’d lived here her whole life, and getting coffee at a newly discovered café down the street wasn’t the same adventure to her as it was to me. She needed something a bit more exciting than that. “We _have_ to go out,” she demanded one afternoon.

“Why?” I asked, cautiously. I wasn’t sure if I was the kind of person who “went out.” I’d never been inside a nightclub, and I’d never really wanted to. I liked waking up feeling fully rested, and prepared for the next day, which made me a huge nerd, but I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Not to mention that I was a little concerned about how unimpressed Bianca would be with me when she saw how lame I was.

“Because! You’ve been here for three months, and we haven’t gone out once. Plus, we have to celebrate,” she gestured to the TV, where Prince William and Kate Middleton were giving a press conference on their just-announced engagement.

To be honest, I kind of got it. I wasn’t really sure why, it just seemed like everyone had been in an uplifting mood all day. I chalked it up to the last generation of royal weddings. Those marriages hadn’t exactly ended in “happily ever after.” As to why these people were so important to everyone, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to complain about how happy everyone was.

“All right. We’ll celebrate,” I conceded.

Bianca squealed and started pulling things out of her closet. Two hours later, we were getting out of a taxi in front of a club in Chelsea. Back at home, Chelsea was the gay part of New York City. In London, it was apparently very “posh.” There was an incredibly long line of other people trying to get into the club we were going to. Even though Bianca had assured me that we would be able to get in, because she knew someone who knew someone, the line (and the incredibly well dressed, beautiful people waiting in it) was cause to be doubtful. I was about to ask her if she was sure this was a good idea when she waved at the doorman, and without a word he nodded at her and pulled back the velvet ropes. “How do you know these people?” I asked, my voice rising above the pounding house music.

“We went to school together,” she shouted back by way of explanation. “This place is very posh. Zara Phillips was photographed coming out of it last week.” I wasn’t too sure who Zara Phillips was, but I acknowledged that this was supposed to be a good thing. Bianca eyed the long line at the bar and then turned back to me. “Since you’re wearing all of my clothes, I vote that you have to stand in line for the drinks.”

“All right,” I reluctantly agreed. Being more of a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of girl myself, I had borrowed a little black dress of hers, and a pair of her shoes, and most of her jewelry. 

She slipped into the dancing crowd and I made my way to the bar. After half an hour of getting far too familiar with people I didn’t know and narrowly avoiding being on both the giving and receiving end of any accidental groping, the bartender slid two sweating vodka cranberries over the glass bar top. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to wedge myself through the dense crowd. At one point in my desperate attempt to get back to the only person I knew here, I got stuck in between two couples, and was trying to wriggle out of being danced up on. Squeezing my eyes shut, I threw all of my energy into freeing myself from these sweaty strangers, stumbling out of the human knot, only to smack right into what felt like a tree. I rebounded and took a few steps back, stumbling and shaking my head. When I blinked up at the person standing in front of me, I felt hot and then instantly cold. My legs felt like something that had been boiled for too long – mushy and soft. “Oh my God. I’m…I’m sorry.” For no reason whatsoever, I bowed my head.

Prince Harry chuckled. His voice didn’t sound the way I thought it would sound. Well, I had no idea what I had thought it would sound like, but I was surprised by it. His voice was deep and husky, and I found it very calm and soothing, even though I was terrified at the moment. “It’s all right, I have another one.” He gestured with his hand for someone to join us, and instantly another white button-down on a hanger was presented to him. He stripped down and changed right there, in the middle of the club.

I stared a little too long at his surprisingly-in-shape body. What was all this about? Weren’t British guys supposed to be all pasty and gross? Um…he was the opposite. “Well…that was efficient,” I stated.

“As you Americans say, ‘This ain’t my first rodeo’,” he said, putting on his best John Wayne impression.

Smiling at him endearingly, I shook my head. “Nobody says that.”

“Damn,” Harry muttered. “And I was trying to be so cool. Well, you need another drink.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I told him, waving a hand.

With another gesture, two new vodka and cranberries appeared as if out of nowhere. Harry handed them to me. “My mates and I have a booth in the back. You should come join us.”

I murmured something that was supposed to be, “Sure, okay,” but sounded like, “Mehmeh,” before averting eyesight and going back to looking for Bianca. I found her leaning against a wall, looking bored. “You won’t believe what just happened,” I told her.

Bianca’s eyes widened. “Did you, gasp, have fun?” she asked.

“Ha ha,” I dryly replied. I related my story of spilling drinks all over the third in line to the throne and Bianca giggled. “That’s all?” I asked. “I spilled drinks down the front of Prince Harry and all I get is a laugh?”

“Do you want to go to their booth?” she asked.

I blinked. “Did you know he would be here?”

“No,” she assured me. “But I’m not surprised. In case you haven’t noticed by now, I kind of _am_ someone. His cousins and I went to the same primary school. We used to play together when we were younger.”

“And this is something that you didn’t mention to me before now?” I practically shouted in her face.

She shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

“Okay, well it is! It’s very important!”

Bianca waved a hand. “Oh come on, let’s go. We’ll see if he remembers me.” With that, she took my hand and led us deeper into the club, to the VIP section. Harry and a few other boys sat drinking in plush purple booths. Harry looked up, his face instantly showing that he recognized Bianca. “B!” he exclaimed, getting up to hug her. “I haven’t seen you in years!”

“I know!” she beamed at him. “But I hear you’ve met my friend, Roxy.”

“Yes, Roxy the drink spiller,” Harry eyed me. He gave me a concentrated once over before patting the seat next to him, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to allow me into his presence. It annoyed me, seeming incredibly cocky, but even as I acknowledged that thought, I felt myself sittomg next to him, and Bianca slide in next to me. “I’ve never seen someone look so terrified,” Harry told her.

I blushed. “Well…to be fair, that was my first time spilling a drink on someone who could behead me.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. “You know, we don’t generally do that anymore.”

“Good to know,” I nodded, sipping my drink.

Gesturing to his friends, Harry introduced us. “Roxy, this is Guy and Piers. You remember them, right, Bianca?”

She waved to them, her old school friends, apparently. The three of them started talking and I looked around, suddenly feeling like I obviously didn’t belong here. Not just in this booth, but in the club in general. First of all, I couldn’t dance. I was too awkward and gawky. It wasn’t that I was tall, I just had the metabolism of a fourteen-year-old boy, which made my arms the size of matchsticks, and my legs look like bobby pins, with knobby knees and ankles. Dancing anything except ballet always made me look like I was flailing in an epileptic seizure. Why had I gone out to a dance club? Second of all, I was definitely too awkward to be in a club full of “posh” people. I hadn’t even had my own clothes to wear out, and I could tell that my ebony curls were frizzing out of control from the humidity in the place. I was cursing my Spanish heritage when Harry turned to me. “Roxy. That’s an interesting name. Is it Roxanne?”

“Roxanna,” I told him. “She was the wife of Alexander the Great.”

Harry looked impressed. “Well that’s a lot to live up to.”

I shrugged. “Not really. Most people think Alexander the Great was gay. So Roxanna probably didn’t have much to do.” Harry laughed and agreed with my assumption. I didn’t want to explain to Harry that my dad had been a history buff, but that was more or less all that I knew about him since he’d bolted when I was a kid, so to get off the subject I just told him, “Most people call me Roxy.”

“So, Roxy the drink spilling American. What brings you to my country?” he asked, opening his arms wide.

For some reason, I was embarrassed again, but I didn’t know why. “I’m a student at the Royal Ballet Academy.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re a ballerina?”

“Um…well, not professionally, yet,” I shrugged. 

“Don’t listen to her, Harry. She’s the best in the class,” Bianca insisted. I noticed that Harry’s friend, Guy, was pouring her a glass of champagne from a bottle that I knew rang upwards of $200. Guy looked familiar, like I’d seen him in the tabloids or something.

“You’re the prima ballerina then?” Harry asked.

“No, no,” I insisted, waving a hand. “I’m just…I’m just in school.”

“She’s going to get offers from everywhere at the end of our third year,” Bianca told Harry. “Madam _loves_ her.”

Madam Fugere, our instructor and the woman who had scouted me, seemed to make every lesson her personal time to pick on me. That she apparently loved me was news to me. “No way!” I countered. “Did you hear her this morning during conditioning? It was like she wanted me to be a contortionist.”

Harry broke in. “I heard that in ballet if they pick on you, it means they like you.” It was true, generally speaking. Bianca confirmed this and Harry nudged my elbow. “So. You’re somebody very important then, aren’t you?”

It seemed silly, coming from him. I lifted my gaze from Bianca’s strappy sandals to up at Harry. It was like being hit by lightening, or like a huge wave had just crashed on me. His eyes were blue, but not a regular blue – like the color of the ocean in commercials for cheap resorts in the Caribbean. It felt like I was being pulled in two, but not as painful as it should have been. I took a deep breath and shook my head. “No, I’m just…I’m just…” I shrugged, not sure how to end that sentence.

Out of nowhere, a flash went off, and Harry grinned. “Well you’re someone now.”

“What?” I asked, looking into the crowd for whatever light had temporarily blinded me.

“That was the paps,” he explained.

“The who?”

“I’ll bet you’ll be on the front page of The Mirror tomorrow.” He got up and turned to his friends. “Time to go, boys.”

His friends groaned, but got up with him. Harry turned back to me. “It was lovely to meet you, Roxy the Ballerina.” He offered a hand and I took it. Instead of just shaking it, he held the back of my hand to his lips. The goose bumps went all the way up to my neck.


	2. Everything Is Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

My dreams that night were outrageous, and exhausted me, even while I was sleeping. I only had foggy memories of them when I woke up, but I couldn’t determine which part of last night was real and which were the dreams. Had I met Prince Harry? Had he kissed my hand? No…that had to have been the dream, right? Blinking, I realized what had woken me up. Bianca was sitting up in her bed across the room, and she had just let out a screech. She sputtered unintelligibly at me and gestured to the TV. Rubbing my eyes, I squinted at the screen and then froze. I was pretty sure that my blood froze in my veins; my lungs stopped expanding. On the television was a grainy photograph that someone had taken on a cell phone. And while _I_ knew that, at that precise moment, Harry had leaned down to kiss my hand, the angle of the picture made it look like he was reaching for my boob. 

“Oh. My. God.”

“Roxy! You’re famous!” Bianca, of course, was ecstatic, which was easy for her. She wasn’t the one who looked like she was being groped all over the television. With a humiliated groan, I pulled the comforter back over my head. “What are you doing, silly?” she asked, jumping on my bed. “You’re Prince Harry’s new girlfriend!”

“I’m Prince Harry’s new law suit,” I spat, tearing the covers off my face.

She rolled her eyes. “Roxanna, we both know you’re not going to sue Prince Harry. Now get up, I’m starving.”

“I’m not going out!” I protested. “I’m the laughing stock of England!”

“Fine. I’ll go out and you can stay here. _Not_ eating.” Bianca knew the way to get me out of bed, that was for sure. 

“All right,” I said, “but I’m wearing huge sunglasses and a floppy hat.” 

“You don’t own a floppy hat,” Bianca pointed out. 

Getting out of bed, I marched over to her closet and pulled out her impossibly large straw hat that she had absolutely no occasion to wear. “No, but you do.” I pulled it on my head and got dressed in the most anonymous outfit I could think of – jeans and a grey t-shirt, beige scarf, and of course, huge sunglasses. 

The dorms were weirdly quiet, which I chalked up to the fact that it was Sunday morning. People were probably at church, or out eating, since the school mess hall wasn’t open on Sundays. Bianca was telling me more about how she knew a prince of Wales as we exited the gates of the school…and were assaulted immediately. I blinked and held my hand up over my eyes, the huge sunglasses somehow still not protecting them enough. Across the street it seemed that the entire British press corps were waiting for me. I could tell, because they were calling out, “Roxanna! Roxanna!” 

“How do they know my name?” I hissed to Bianca. 

She shrugged. “It’s their job.” 

Turning to her, I grabbed her hands and squeezed them. “Tell me what to do?” 

Taking a deep breath, she mulled it over. “Right. The way I see it, we have two options. You can go inside, hide, and order take away, which I would completely support. Or, we can go to breakfast. Since you’re a student, there are certain rules they have to follow.” 

“How do you know that?” I asked. 

She shrugged. “Everyone knows that.” 

Chewing on my lip, I asked, “Which one of those would Kate Middleton do?” 

“Honestly? I think…she’d go out to breakfast. But she also has someone to help her make these decisions. Like, a professional. Which I’m not,” Bianca confessed. “But I’ve followed royalty my whole life, and I think the best thing that you can do now is go out to breakfast with me, and act like everything’s normal.” 

“Everything _is_ normal,” I insisted in a shrill voice that suggested the exact opposite. 

Bianca nodded. “Okay. Then, on we go.” She took my hand and boldly led me down a couple of blocks. I did notice that the photographers who were following us stayed across the street and behind us. We got to a tiny restaurant that we’d eaten at before, and one of the waiters opened the door for us, ushering us in to a booth in the back. 

“Hello ladies,” he greeted us with a smile. “Looks like somebody caused quite the scene last night.” 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I muttered, blushing. I was thankful that I was hidden behind the hat, sunglasses, and scarf. 

He winked at us and went back to the kitchen to put in our usual orders – an English breakfast for me, and oatmeal with blueberries for Bianca. While we ate, the crowd outside died down a little. It was comforting to know that there were more important things going on in Britain than me eating breakfast. “What am I going to do?” I groaned, taking a sip of coffee. 

Bianca gave me a sympathetic look. “So it’s not the most flattering picture on the planet. The good news is that this kind of stuff happens all the time, and the girls are always forgotten about in like, a week. So don’t worry.” 

“Oh, wonderful. So I’ll be known as the girl who got her boob grabbed by Prince Harry for a week, and then I’ll be forgotten. That’s the legacy I wanted to leave in England.” 

Holding up a finger, Bianca told me to wait a minute and rooted around in her purse for something. I pushed around the beans and sausage on my plate and waited as she took out her phone and pulled something up on it. “To prove to you how not big of a deal this is, here.” She slid her phone over to me and I looked down at the picture, which was of Prince William wearing no shirt and a pink feather boa. There was also a girl wearing no shirt, just a bra, and he was _definitely_ grabbing her boob. 

“Um…what is that?” I asked. 

“See! You don’t even know! That’s because this girl was in a club with Prince William once when he was wasted, which young men are wont to do, and something stupid happened. Now, you don’t know who this girl is, I don’t know who this girl is, and the rest of the world has no idea that this girl even existed, because they’re focused on him being happily engaged to a woman who’s boob never got grabbed.” When she saw that this wasn’t making me any happier, Bianca put her phone back in her purse and then, delicately asked, “Do you _like_ him?” 

“What?” I snapped. 

Shrugging, she repeated, “Do you like him?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bianca, I don’t know him.” When the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile, I sighed. “Okay. He’s charming. And handsome. And it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t a little…star struck by him last night. But I’m not planning our wedding or anything.” 

Then, out of curiosity, Bianca asked, “Do you normally like the bad boy type?” 

I had to think about it. My only boyfriend in high school had been a boy a year older than me who was a drummer in a band. He could have been described as a “bad boy,” but he was mostly just a loser. “I don’t think I normally like any type. I haven’t been exposed to enough types yet.” 

“Tell me about it,” Bianca sympathized. “The ballet studio is _not_ the place to meet men.” 

“On the contrary, I’ve met plenty of good men in the studio. They’ve just all been gay,” I joked. She giggled and, like that, things went back to normal, and I went back to feeling like myself, and not like the girl who got groped by a prince. 

* * * 

By Monday morning, I was up and ready for conditioning. At the RBA we had three hours of conditioning in the morning, followed by science, history, English, math, or French, depending on the day. After those classes, we had pas de duex workshops, and then technique, except for on Saturdays when we only had conditioning. It was a jam-packed schedule, but I didn’t mind being busy doing the only thing I was ever any good at. And after such a crazy weekend, it felt good to be getting back into my routine as I slipped my feet out of their sandals and rolled down my tights. Bianca took her spot on the barre next to me, shoving lamb’s wool down into the toes of her shoes. Letting out a yawn, she told me, “I don’t know how you’re always so bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning.” 

I shrugged and tucked in the ends of my pink satin laces. “I like conditioning. It’s easy.” 

“It’s _tedious_ ,” she countered, letting out another yawn. We were warming up our toes and ankles at the barre when Madam came in. 

Clapping her hands together, she announced, “Places ladies, places. _S’il vous plait._ ” The other girls took their places at the barre and fell silent. Madam stood at the front of the room for a minute, which was unusual. Most of the time she just clapped her hands, counted off, and we started. This time, however, she apparently had something to say. “I understand that you ladies are young, and for most of you, it’s the first time you’re without your parents, on your own, living in a fabulous city like London. I know that it can all be very exciting.” Her eyes passed over me and I frowned, looking at Bianca. She shrugged. “As young, attractive girls, there may even be times that you’re tempted to go out, experience new things, have a man in your life. But let us not forget, girls, that as thrilling as these experiences may be, you have worked your whole lives to be students at the Royal Ballet Academy.” She paused. “You have worked for seventeen years, your parents have paid for classes, for new ballet shoes, for costumes, so that you could be contending for a spot in one of the world’s oldest and most prestigious ballet companies. Think of all you have sacrificed to be here now. Are you willing to throw that all away, for the chance at a night in a club, with men you don’t know? Because the only way that you girls will be princesses, is if you’re the Swan Princess. Don’t forget that, girls.” 

I was roughly the color of a beet. Madam’s speech was all too clear. She hadn’t been oblivious to the news coverage over my boob grab, and she was pissed. I got it. If nothing else, I wasn’t exactly reflecting well on the school. But I did think that the leap between me having one night in a club and questioning my loyalty to my dancing career was more than a little ridiculous. The more I thought about it as I _plied_ , the angrier I got. Madam didn’t get to decide what I did with my personal life – with the few hours I got to be outside the gates of the Academy. I hadn’t even done anything wrong, I’d broken no rules. I went out and had a fun night, and now I was getting a humiliating lecture in front of the whole class? 

Three hours later, Bianca and I were getting changed after a shower and heading to class. She was quiet, patiently waiting for me to comment on Madam’s speech. I didn’t until we sat down to history and opened our texts. A picture of Anne Boelyn stared up at me from the book and I turned to her. “Did I do anything wrong?” I hissed. 

Bianca shook her head. “Not as far as I know.” 

“So then what was with the public verbal spanking I just got?” Bianca chewed on her lip. “What?” 

“I’m not agreeing with her,” she started. “But I kind of get where she’s coming from. If you started dating Harry – well, it’s practically like having a full time job.” 

“But I’m _not_ dating him,” I pointed out. 

She nodded. “Well I know that, and you know that, and he knows that. But Madam doesn’t know that. And the truth is that if he called you up today and asked you to go get a cup of coffee, you’d say yes.” 

I frowned at her and cocked my head to one side. “In what reality did Prince Harry get my phone number and then decide to call me and ask me for coffee?” 

“That’s not the point,” she waved a hand. 

“Well maybe it should be. How did he get my number? I didn’t give it to him, that’s just creepy.” We giggled and before we could talk any more about it, our professor came in and started the lecture. I decided not to waste any more time being mad about Madam’s speech. I’d gone out and done something silly once, and she took it out of context. It wasn’t a big deal. As Bianca had assured me yesterday, in a few days today’s tabloids would be used to wrap up fish and chips, and no one would remember this ever happened. 

*** 

“Beautiful, Roxanna,” Madam praised me as I spun into Marcus’s arms. Marcus had been assigned to be my pas de duex partner, and we worked well together. Dancing with Marcus was like dancing with a mind reader. He made everything so easy, so fluid. Marcus took hold of my hands as I pirouetted in front of him, coming out of it into an arabesque. “Ladies, notice her extension. It never falters, even though Marcus is there to support her. Your partner is not there to improve your dancing.” Marcus placed one hand on my waist and the other under my thigh, lifting me above his head. “Watch the arms, Roxanna. Girls, we must not make it look like we’re trying. Rather, just floating through air.” It was hard not to look like I was trying to balance in the air, but I found my center and drew my arms down. Marcus let go of me for the briefest of moments, letting me fall into a fish dive. “Wonderful, Marcus, beautiful Roxanna,” she praised again, and I couldn’t help beaming down at the floor. This was one of my favorite poses, and Marcus was an amazingly talented dancer. It also was a relief to be praised by Madam. I was just glad that everybody seemed to be over the boob-grabbing incident. “Lovely, you two,” Madam assessed, and Marcus lifted me upright so he could place me down. 

Smiling, I took five to get my water bottle and wipe some sweat off my neck. As I looked out of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio, however, I saw a black car being let into the gate, followed by and after two police on motorcycles. I frowned as two men in black suits got out of the car and started walking around campus. Bianca joined me, but didn’t seem to notice the guests who looked like they were extras in _The Matrix_. “That was amazing, Rox.” 

“Thanks,” I smiled at her. “It felt pretty great.” 

She shook her head. “I told you Madam loves you.” When class was over, I wiped the sweat off my brow with my towel and slipped my feet into slippers, sighing at the soft, fuzzy feeling between my toes. “Have you seen those guys?” Bianca asked, looking over to the window in front of the barre. 

“Yeah, I did,” I answered, relieved that I hadn’t been imagining it. “I thought I was just being paranoid but they’re weird, right? Who are they and what are they doing here?” 

Bianca shook her head at me, grinning. “You’re so nosey. They’re probably just trying to pick up girls.” 

“How did they get in the front gate?” I asked more intensely, picking up my dance bag. 

She chuckled as we made our way out of the classroom and down the hall to the dorms. “I don’t know, Roxy. Who cares?” 

“You’re the one who brought it up!” I pointed out, laughing. 

Bianca was about to respond when she frowned, looking straight ahead. “Um …who is that in front of our door?” she asked. 

I frowned, too, when I saw the man who looked in his twenties, dressed in khakis and a blue polo standing in front of our door. “I have no idea,” I muttered. We approached slowly, but the man didn’t say anything to us. He hardly even acknowledged us as I unlocked the door to our room and Bianca tried to stifle her giggles at the absurdity of what he was doing there. She had just started to comment on how weird it was when her voice turned into a small, choking sound. I had taken a few steps into the room and then stopped walking, so she knocked into me, but I hardly noticed. Prince Harry was sitting on my bed. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” I blurted out. I was more interested in the logistics than anything else. Seriously, how had he gotten into my room without a key? 

“Oh. Hi,” he said awkwardly, standing up and brushing off his jeans. _Cut the Hugh Grant shit and get to the point_ , I wanted to snap, not thrilled with him being in my space for Lord only knew how long. Instead of saying anything, I just raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “I wanted to come by and apologize,” he told me. When he didn’t continue, I raised my eyebrows expectantly. Harry’s eyes flicked to Bianca and then he looked awkwardly around the room. 

Bianca cleared her throat loudly behind me and I moved out of her way, allowing her access to her side of the room. “I’m just…gonna shower,” she said, grabbing her toilettries and leaving the room. 

When the door closed behind her, there was an awkward silence. I dropped my dance bag on my bed. “How long have you been here?” I asked. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t know when you got out of class.” 

“Did you go through my stuff?” I snapped, suspiciously looking around my room. 

Finally getting frustrated enough, Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s exactly how I decided to spend my day. Snooping around an American ballerina’s dormitory,” he replied. 

“Who knows what you do all day?” I asked with a casual shrug. “Shoot black tar heroin. Attend KKK rallies.” 

Again, Harry rolled his eyes with a groan. “I came here to apologize,” he insisted, his voice rising. 

“So you’ve said,” I noted with a nod. 

“So do you accept it or not?” he asked, irritated. 

“Wait a minute. You humiliate me all over the tabloids and I’m supposed to forgive you because you stalked me?” I asked him. “Not likely.” 

“Fine,” he held up his hands. “Then…I’ll just go.” 

“Go right ahead. 

“I will.” I gestured with my arm to the door, but Harry didn’t move. “Is this some trick?” he asked. “Are you playing hard to get or something?” 

My jaw almost hit the floor. “Wow. _Wow._ So it can get worse than you grabbing my boob on the internet!” Harry instantly realized his mistake, but there was no going back now. I shook my head. “To answer your question, no, I am not playing ‘hard to get’,” I made quotes in the air. Taking a deep breath, I figured I should at least give him an inch. “And…I guess it was nice of you to come here and apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” 

Harry blew out a relieved breath. “Well. That was like pulling teeth.” 

Chuckling, I tucked one leg underneath me. “There should be some law against you seeing me like this, I just came from class,” I explained. “I don’t normally smell like old shoes and sweat.” 

His blue eyes widened before he let out a loud laugh, from his stomach, like he was surprised by something I’d said. “I was going to mention that you were in need of a shower.” 

I smiled at him and took a sip from my water bottle. Well, he’d apologized. Now what? “So…how did you get in here? Just out of curiosity?” 

He gave me a puzzled look. “I’m the brother of the future king of England. Or should I say, the Spare,” he noted. And then, without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat next to me on my bed. This struck me as awkward at first, but it didn’t seem to occur to him that there were places in which he should and shouldn’t sit. I got the feeling that he didn’t hear the word, “no” a whole lot… 

Chuckling lightly, I tilted my head sympathetically. “Oh, you shouldn’t call yourself that.” 

“Why not? Everyone else does,” he pointed out. “Besides, between you and me, I think I got the better end of the deal.” 

“Hm, well I’d have to agree there,” I nodded. “And you got the better hair line.” 

He did the shocked laugh again. “Look, Roxy, you’re…a foreigner. And I’m kind of an expert on…British things. What if I took you for a tour some time?” 

“A tour of what?” I asked slowly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Whatever you want,” he shrugged. “You said you hadn’t really had time to see the city. And, believe it or not, I know it pretty well.” 

“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” I grinned. And then, before I could stop myself from blurting it out, I asked, “Why?” Harry gave me a confused state. “I mean, that’s nice of you and everything, but aren’t you busy? Or something?” 

He shrugged. “No. Not really. I’m on leave right now so I don’t have to go to work or anything. I know I made an ass out of myself the other night and I feel bad that you’re new here and your right breast is all over the news.” I laughed despite myself. “I figure if the press gets a couple of pictures of us actually doing things they’ll stop showing this,” he said, holding up the copy of the _Daily Mail_ that had the picture taken in the club on it’s front page. 

I pondered this for a moment. “Well, given that I’m so famous, I am worried about my press coverage,” I told him. “Yeah, I think this plan could work.” Actually, I didn’t. In truth, I knew that any other photo ops taken with Harry and I would only make more headlines and more speculation as to who I was and were we an item. But it was just so humiliating that I was anxious for the tabloids to be splashing a more flattering picture of me all over their front pages. I knew it was stupid, and probably unrealistic, but I was hoping to be seen out with him once more and then just fade back into obscurity. One day, this would all just be a hilarious story to tell my grandchildren…well, maybe not the part where he grabbed my boob… 

“Great,” he said. “I will warn you, we will be trailed by the press all day.” 

“But there are rules, right?” I asked him. 

He shrugged. “Now that I’m not in school they don’t really follow them. It shouldn’t be a situation. But they may say things that are inappropriate to try and get a reaction out of you. Just ignore them and try to enjoy the day as a tourist, yeah?” he asked. 

“Sure,” I nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I am a tourist.” 

Harry nodded. “Right. I’ll have someone ring you before we come ‘round.” He paused before asking, “That sounded really British didn’t it?” 

Laughing, I agreed, “Yeah, you’re right. Don’t go all Hugh Grant on me or it’ll get weird.” 

He chuckled, promised not to, and left the room. As soon as the door was closed Bianca burst back in. “What in the name of Christ?” she asked. 

I shook my head and collapsed onto my bed. “Don’t ask me anything. I have no idea what to tell you,” I said, holding one hand up to her and using the other to cover my eyes. “What the hell is going on?” I whispered. 

“You just told me not to ask you that!” Bianca reminded me. 

Opening my eyes, I sat up on my bed. “Bianca, I just talked to him like…like I would talk to anyone! The words just fell out of my mouth! How is that possible? I can hardly speak to our instructors!” 

“It doesn’t matter. Roxy, this is a really bad idea.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped at her. 

Bianca shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. This is an _exceptionally_ bad idea. This might be the worst idea anyone has ever had. Ask Princess Diana! Oh wait a minute, you can’t!” 

I glared at her. “First of all, rude. Second, I _know_. I don’t want to get caught up in all their weird family stuff either.” 

“So then why are you going out with him on Sunday?” she asked, hands on her hips. When I raised an eyebrow at her, wondering how she knew that, she shrugged and offered, “I was listening at the door.” 

“I’m going out with him on Sunday because I want a picture other than my _boob_ all over the front page,” I told her, waving the tabloid in her face. 

Bianca took a deep breath. “Well, I can’t blame you for that. But after Sunday, no more Roxy, seriously. It’s better to just…stay away from all that.” 

“I know,” I told her. “I’m going to take a shower.” Before Bianca could remind me that what I was doing was stupid, I grabbed my shower caddy and made for the bathrooms. _This is stupid_ , I told myself. _Call it off._ But I had no number to call, I had no way to get in touch with anyone in this situation, besides, it would probably be incredibly poor form to stand up a prince. Swearing under my breath, I grabbed my shampoo bottle, squeezing it too hard and sending shampoo squirting all over the shower. “Crap!” 


	3. Royal Tour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“All right, what about this?” I asked, zipping up Bianca’s riding boots.

“You’re lucky we wear the same sizes and have the same exact body shapes,” she said, not looking up from her computer.

We didn’t, because Bianca was far more naturally thin than I, but I ignored the comment and whined, “Bianca! This is serious! How do I look?” Rolling her eyes, Bianca turned my way. I was wearing a combination of our clothes. Her black booties, my skinny jeans tucked into them, my cheap white tank top, her gray blazer, my long chunky necklace and stud earrings, and her black fedora with feathers sticking out of one side of the rim. I’d left my curly black hair down, hoping that tucking it under the hat would keep it from turning into an afro. “Do I look like Kate Middleton?”

Giving me a once over, she tilted her head. “Not really. You look like a knock-off Kate Middleton. Like Kate Middleton fell off the back of the lorrie and – “

“I get it,” I snapped, turning around and looking at myself in the mirror one more time. 

“Besides, you shouldn’t be going for Kate. You should be going for Roxy. She’s much more fun,” Bianca pointed out.

Looking doubtfully at my reflection in the mirror, I asked, “How are you so sure?” I had to admit that Roxy _did_ look a little edgier than Kate…I just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Bianca came up behind me and smoothed down some of my fly-aways. “You _so_ don’t look like a Kate.”

“ _A_ Kate? What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, brushing invisible lint off my shirt.

“When Fergie started dating Prince Andrew, that was the big question. Were you a Diana, or a Fergie?” Bianca explained.

“A Jackie or an Ethel,” I added on. The Kennedys were probably as close as Americans got to a royal dynasty.

“Right. Now everyone will be asking, “Are you a Kate, or a Roxy’?” She paused, contemplating our differences. “See, Kate has to be elegant, classy, immaculate, _always_. But Roxy can let loose and have a good time.”

“She _can_?” I asked her skeptically.

She cocked her head to the side. “Well _she_ can. You, on the other hand…”

Laughing, I pointed out, “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Welcome to the Royal World, darling. Who you are and who Fleet Street decide you’re going to be are two completely different things.“ Fleet Street was the notorious home of the various tabloid publishers. 

I was letting that statement sink in when the doorbell buzzed. “Yes?” I asked into the receiver.

“Miss DeLaSearle’s visitor is here,” the receptionist informed us.

“I’ll be right down,” I told her quickly before lifting my finger off the button and turning to Bianca. “I thought I wasn’t joining the Royal World.”

She nodded. “That’s right, you’re not. So forget about being a Kate or a Roxy or Fleet Street. Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine. Just remember, if he asks you to go somewhere else, you’d love to, but you’re really busy with school.”

“Right,” I nodded. “I’d love to, but I’m busy with school. Got it.”

“Text me if you need anything. And please _don’t_ do anything embarrassing!” she called after me as I left the room. 

When I got to the dorm lobby there was the same man who had been waiting outside my room. Without introducing himself, he opened a door for me and led me to a car with a glass top. It was completely open to the public eye, anyone could see in. Harry was sitting in the back seat, uncorking a bottle of champagne, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I leaned down and gave him a wary look. “What?” he asked innocently. “It’s a special occasion!” With that, he patted the seat next to him and poured two flutes.

I slid into the car and the man shut the door before getting behind the wheel. “Won’t the champagne send the wrong message?” I asked.

“Wrong message? Roxy, the wrong message is going to get spread anyway. Isn’t that the whole point of this little tour?” he asked. Biting down on my bottom lip, I nodded and agreed. As we drove out of the school gates I could see through the glass that there was a pretty big group of people waiting for us. Sudden bursts of light told me that those people were paparazzi. “I leaked a few things to the press about this afternoon.”

“This is about you,” I turned to him.

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You looked stupid in those pictures in the club. So you’re trying to do some damage control,” I realized. I’d naively assumed that maybe Harry genuinely did feel bad for making me look stupid. But this had nothing to do with me! He had looked stupid in those pictures, too. Feeling myself get furious, I took a deep breath. What was I thinking? Harry hadn’t come to my dorm room, told me he was desperately in love with me, and offered me a tour of London. He’d been honest about what he was trying to do here. Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. Taking a sip of champagne, I decided that I might as well enjoy the tour.

Harry didn’t make that a hard task. We started with a ride on the Eye. Photographers struggled to take our pictures from our pod high in the sky. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, Harry pointed to Parliament. 

“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “I can’t believe I live here.”

He smiled at me and I blushed. After realizing that he’d been staring at me for longer than normal, he cleared his throat and told me about how Guy Fawkes had tried to blow the building up, but how his plot had been foiled. He also told me about how it had been lucky to avoid German bombing during WWII, and how his grandmother was present at the opening of Parliament every year. When our ride was over, he bought me a cheesy souvenir picture, then tipped the clerk an obscene amount of money to delete it from the system in order to make sure no one else got their hands on it. 

From the Eye we took a drive to Regents Park. Harry pointed out the window to the daffodils that seemed to cover every square inch of the park. “See that, there, all the flowers?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “They’re beautiful.”

He grinned. “My great-great-great-great something or other Charles II was actually out there one day, picking flowers for his mistress.”

Before he could finish, I held a hand up. “Is this another history lesson according to Harry Wales? Because I could just buy a book or something if I wanted to learn the real things.”

“Hey! You don’t know that Guy Fawkes didn’t shout ‘Bugger off you bloody Protestants!’ before he tried to blow up Parliament!”

“Yes I do!” I insisted.

Harry laughed and insisted that this was a true story before resuming it. “Anyway, ol’ Chuck Number 2 got caught picking flowers for his mistress. And the queen, Queen Catherine, caught him, and she knew what he was doing, so she ordered that all the flowers be pulled up, and that none could legally be grown in the park. But she couldn’t stop the daffodils. They still pop up, every year, because they grow wild in the park.” Frowning, I looked at Harry. From behind us, cameras flashed. I hoped they couldn’t tell how close we were, because we were very close. I chewed on my bottom lip and searched his eyes. His tone was… strange. Looking back at me, Harry shrugged. “I come from a long line of unfaithful men.”

Swallowing, I let out a small, “Oh…” I was about to think of something more poignant to say when the car pulled to a stop in front of the gates of Buckingham Palace. Laughing, I asked, “We’re not going in there, are we?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. You’re getting the same treatment as everyone else.” He opened his own door and then came around to open mine. A few people waiting in line to go into the Buckingham Palace gift shop gasped and pointed. Harry, of course, didn’t have to wait in line and show his ticket, like the rest of the mere mortals. 

We walked in and I smiled, pointing to all of the Royal Wedding paraphernalia. “Are you excited?” I asked quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear us.

He nodded. “Of course. She’s great. Although, I will tell you, when my mum died, they let us go pick out what we wanted to keep of her things, and I picked the ring. But Will was obviously going to get married before me, so he asked for it and I gave it to him. The woman I marry is going to be quite upset about that.”

I felt something pulling my stomach down, twisting it like it was a wet rag that needed to be wrung out. There was something I should have said, words that were appropriate when someone mentioned a parent, or a loved one, that they’d lost. But I didn’t know what those words were. Instead, I just pushed out a smile and kept walking into the museum, picking up a coffee table book on the House of Windsor. Harry peered over my shoulder as I opened it, flipping idly to a page with a detailed family tree. There was a picture of Harry’s grandmother under a picture of her father, and I frowned. “Wait a minute, what’s this?” I asked, pointing to a line connecting Harry’s great-grandfather to another man older than King George VI.

“No one ever told you about the abdication?” he asked. When I shook my head, he muttered, “Americans,” under his breath. “This man, Prince David of Wales, was supposed to be the heir to the throne. This man, Prince Albert, was his younger brother, the Duke of York.”

“Will you be the Duke of York one day?” I asked. I knew that Harry’s uncle, Prince Andrew, currently held the title.

He nodded. “I will. Anyway, Prince Albert was the Duke of York at the time. When King George V died, David was supposed to inherit the crown, but there was this woman,” Harry pointed to a picture of another woman with a chic flapper-style hair cut. “Wallis Simpson.”

“What was wrong with her?” I asked, looking at the picture. She wasn’t that pretty, but I had to admit that there was something interesting about her.

“For one thing, she was an American,” Harry smirked, nudging me. “Also, she was a divorcee. And a Hitler sympathizer. But that actually had less to do with why we didn’t like her than the first two things.”

I blanched. “Really?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “At the time, it was unheard of that a King of England should be married to a divorcee, and an _American_ at that,” Harry said the word like he was vomiting. I giggled. “So, he had to abdicate. Which would give the crown to Prince Albert, who became King George VI.”

Frowning, I slowly put it together. “So…how old was your grandmother when she found out that she was going to be Queen?”

“Ten,” he nodded. “Can you imagine?”

I shook my head and answered honestly, “No. No, I can’t.” When I was ten, I’d gotten my first pair of pointe shoes. Not my first tiara. Harry ventured on, and blowing out a breath, I shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. 

On the way to our next location, he showed me Picadilly Circus, which was like the Hollywood of London, and Westminster Abbey, where Will and Kate would be walking down the aisle in the spring. Next, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Harry opened the car for me, and the press who were trailing us furiously snapped pictures as he took my hand. “My mother got married here,” he told me as we walked up the steps.

“I know _that_ ,” I snapped, apparently forgetting the need for words of comfort that I’d wanted before.

He looked surprised. “You _do_?”

“Yes, of course. My mom had a copy of it on VHS. Me and my sister used to watch it all the time.” I blushed at this silly admission.

“Did you?” he asked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. 

I nodded. “We used to dress up in bed sheets and tie them together to make that long train, and use pillowcases for the sleeves,” I giggled at the memories of Grace and I walking up and down the hallway of our tiny ranch house, pretending we were princesses. “We had one of those Barbie cars that we would pretend was a carriage and get in it. It was pretty glamorous.”

“Sounds it,” Harry nodded as we went into the Cathedral. We were greeted by nuns, who closed the doors to the public. Suddenly, everything went quiet. I inhaled as we walked up the aisle of the church. “What?” Harry asked at my contemplative look.

I shrugged and looked around. “I don’t know. Don’t you think it smells delicious in here?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, obviously judging me. I couldn’t blame him. “I don’t know. It smells like a church.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” I insisted. “There are some places in London that just smell so good. And…”

“And?” he pressed further.

Sighing, I figured I already sounded crazy enough, why stop now? “I guess I sort of always felt, like at home, that I didn’t quite fit in. I was always dancing while everyone else around me was dating or tanning or…I don’t know what else. And since I’ve been here, it’s like I always feel like a warm, fuzzy blanket is wrapped around me. I wake up every morning and I’m…I’m just buzzing with this feeling. I think this is the first place I’ve ever felt like I’m at home.”

Harry smiled at me. “I suppose I take that for granted, having a place to call home.”

“You probably take more than that for granted,” I bet.

The intimacy of what we’d been discussing caught up with us and we had another awkward pause. Again, Harry cleared his throat and pointed to the floor, informing me that the mosaic had been made by female prisoners. He told me more about the Cathedral and we left, not before he subtly paid alms to the nuns. I smiled, feeling that warm, fuzzy-blanket-feeling.

We got back in the car, drank more champagne, and Harry told me, “One last location.”

Trying to hide my disappointment, I asked, “Oh?”

He smiled. “I think you’ll like it.”

When we pulled up to the next place, I smiled back at him. “You were right,” I said as I stared up at London Bridge. “I’m impressed. However, I did hear that it was falling down.”

“That is a vicious rumor spread by little children,” Harry told me, disgusted. I laughed and we walked into the gates of the Tower of London. “Right, I _am_ going to give you some special treatment here,” he admitted. “But that’s it!”

I held my hands up, surrendering. “All right, I get it. No more special treatment.” Taking my hand, Harry led me through some dirt paths. There were a couple of Beefeaters scattered about who saluted him as he walked past. Tourists pointed and took pictures, but there was no mob scene like he was John Lennon, and I was grateful for that. He waved to a tour guide, who clearly knew him, and pushed open a gate marked with a sign that clearly said, “No Entry.” “Um, are we supposed to be down here?” I asked as we went down a small flight of stone steps.

Harry unlocked a latch that was attached to a wall and I gasped. It opened right into the Thames. “Probably not. But they generally let me do these things, Roxanna.”

“What is this?” I asked, peering out into the river.

“This,” he said, “is where Anne Boleyn was taken when she was brought here, to the Tower.”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and I knew I probably resembled a flounder, and not Kate Middleton. “Wh… _here_?” I asked.

He nodded and let me take another good look before gesturing to a narrow staircase in a cinderblock tower. “Here, come,” he instructed, shutting the door, closing the latch, and taking my hand. It was incredibly narrow and steep, and a spiral. I was just starting to feel nauseated when the staircase ended. We walked down a hallway to another room. The door was made of wood, with a small, barred window near the top. Harry opened it and I stepped in. The room was pretty big, but there was only one small window that opened to the center of the tower. You could hardly see anything, only the tourists below and the other side of the grey tower. “This was her jail cell.”

For a few moments, all I could do was blink. I did that a couple of times before finally getting out, “Wow. _Wow._ ” After a few more seconds I was able to stammer, “That’s…I mean, that’s huge.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like she _did_ anything.”

“Well, first of all, the most famous person in U.S. history is probably Elvis Presley, so you’ll forgive me for being star struck. Second of all, Harry, you are _aware_ that she is the reason that the religious landscape of this entire nation was changed?”

Harry lit a cigarette. “Because Henry VIII wanted to fuck someone else. Yes, I know.”

The brashness of this statement threw me. “The Church of England split had political and diplomatic repercussions,” I pointed out, practically quoting our history textbook. “For which you should be thankful, Mr. Divine Right.”

Harry exhaled. “Oh please. Don’t tell me you believe that bullshit.” I couldn’t honestly say that I did, so I just shrugged while Harry smoked. “My gran might be last monarch who actually believes that it was God’s plan that she should be Queen.”

“What about your father?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Harry shook his head. “He’s not that stupid. It’s a complete accident of our births that’s got us here. It has nothing to do with God.” He paused before taking a drag. “Do you think, that if there is a God, he gives a shit about who gets a throne and a crown?”

“Do you actually _have_ a crown?” I asked, attempting to lighten the mood. It worked, Harry chuckled. I took a few paces over to him and leaned against the wall next to him. “I don’t think I believe in Divine Right, either. But, for whatever reason, you’re Prince Harry. And,” I shrugged, looking for words of encouragement, which I was frankly surprised to find that ne needed, “you can be great at it.”

Harry stared at me for a beat before his mouth turned up into a grin. For a moment, he looked like he was contemplating something. “I think Will will be different,” he noted, and I knew he was talking about what he’d said at the park, about coming from a long line of cheating men. “But we’re older. Smarter.”

Not really knowing what to say, I reached out and placed my hand lightly on his arm. “Harry.” He looked up at me. “I think you’re…well, you’re just…tops.”

His turquoise eyes flashed, like there was thunder rolling in underneath them. “Thanks. You’re all right, too.”

I smiled, feeling my heart warm. My face flushed and I looked down. The feeling I was getting could have just been too much champagne. We made our way back to the car and headed back to Covent Garden in a comfortable silence. When we pulled into the gates, I turned to Harry. “This day has been so surreal,” I told him.

Harry smiled. “For me as well.”

Biting my bottom lip, I felt my face get warm again. “Well…thank you. I learned a lot.”

He laughed and lit a cigarette. “Do you want to…”

I waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. “Do I want to…what?” To be honest, the first part of this question was scaring me.

“I went to high school at this place called Eton.”

“That’s where Mr. Scheffield went!” I blurted out.

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Um…Mr. Scheffield. The guy on _The Nanny_ ,” I explained, humiliated.

Slowly, Harry answered, “Right. Well, you see, I actually went there, since I’m a real person. And every year they have an Old Boys football – sorry, soccer – match, when they ask some former students to play. So I was wondering if you wanted to come…cheer me on.” And then Harry did the thing he’d done in the club. He looked down, and then looked up at me through his long, soft eyelashes. He looked exactly like his mom, and I had to disguise my gasp. 

“Harry…”

“Forget it.”

“No, it’s just – “

“Forget I asked. It was bullocks anyway.”

“No, Harry, stop. I want to go,” I assured him. “It’s just…my instructors weren’t thrilled with what happened at the club the other night. And it’s _really_ important to me that I don’t piss them off.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s a Sunday. You’re not allowed off on a Sunday?”

“No, I am. It’s just…” I paused before deciding to use Bianca’s line…just not the one we’d discussed for me getting out of future engagements with Harry. “Who I am and who Fleet Street is going to say I am are two different things.”

Harry took a deep breath in and then exhaled quickly. “I see. Well, believe it or not Roxy, you’re not the first girl who has had this problem.”

Sitting back in my seat I asked, “So…what do we do?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry exhaled a puff of smoke, “there’s nothing I can do. Except that I can tell you what is going to happen next. The papers are going to dig. They’re going to find out who you are, where you’re from, and why you’re here with me today. They’re going to know things about you that you probably never knew about yourself. They’re going to call people that you may have been casual acquaintances with, and those people are going to tell reporters that you were the closest of friends. And, if you come to the Old Boys game, there will be photo-graphers, and they will be very interested in what you’re wearing.” I pushed out a smile. Harry tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You can tell the reporters whatever you like. You can tell your instructors whatever you like. But I can’t lie. People feel entitled to a certain amount of knowledge about me and my personal life. And I’m sorry that we have to be having this conversation right now. All I can tell you is that I’ve enjoyed your company, _very_ much. And I’d love for you to come to the Old Boys game.”

I tilted my head to one side. “That was very sweet, Harry.”

“So…I’ll see you next weekend?” he asked hopefully.

Reluctantly, I nodded, and leapt out of the car before I could change my mind.

***

I came into my room and flopped down on my back. Who was I? What was I doing? And with whom? It wasn’t like I’d never made a friend before. In the little spare time I had, the girls at the dance studio back home and I would catch a movie or take the train into the City. It was always good, clean fun. And now, here I was, in the back of chauffered-driven cars, drinking champagne with the most eligible bachelor on this side of the Atlantic…and probably the other side, too. This was a disaster in the making. And it didn’t make any sense! Why me? Weren’t there others who were better suited for this kind of thing? Kate Middleton had a sister, couldn’t she just do it? Do what, I wasn’t sure, but I was certain she’d be better at it than me. I had no idea what the procedure was for this. Was I now a good target for some terrorist organization? Was the IRA going to kidnap me and decapitate me on the internet? Just as my mind was starting to conjure up images of me in a cave somewhere with Osama Bin Laden, Bianca entered the room, books in the crook of her arm. “You’re back,” she stated. “So. How was it?”

“Informative,” I told her, before sitting up. “He sort of…well…he wanted to know if I…um…well…he asked me to…”

“Spit it out Roxanna, what? Snort a line of cocaine? Have a threesome? What?”

Well, compared to those things, my news seemed really boring. “He asked me to go to the Eton Old Boys game.”

Bianca’s eyebrows rose. “Well are you going to go?” she asked.

“I told him I would,” I muttered, looking down at my faux-suede booties. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “It’s…your decision.”

All of it was ridiculous. Any other girl would jump at the chance to go on a second date, or whatever it was, with Prince Harry. But not any other girl was at the RBA. Not any other girl was there on a scholarship that she could lose. Any other girl could afford to put her life on ice, see if things worked out with Harry, and then get back to whatever it was she was doing without much upset (unless she was curing cancer or something). But I couldn’t just tell Madam Fugere to wait while I decided if I would be a dancer or the Duchess of…Whatever. And what if I decided I didn’t want to be the Duchess of Whatever? What if I wanted to be the Swan Princess, and that was good enough for me?

“Roxy, I’m not going to listen to all of this stupid, ‘woe is me’ talk. You’ve made a new friend. There’s nothing wrong with that,” she told me, sitting next to me on my bed. “Now. On to the real question.” I turned to look at her, frowning. “How many paps saw you in my clothes?”


	4. A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

“Good morning girls,” Madam Fugere greeted us as we took our spots at the barre for Monday morning conditioning. “I hope you all had fun this weekend. Not _too much_ fun, of course,” she added. A few of the bolder girls glanced at me and snickered. Madam clapped her hands and we started class the same way I’d started every ballet class since I was three – softly pressing my right food out, ball of my feet pointed on the floor in a tendu. Madam started her usual route around the spacious studio. “Which brings me to my next point, ladies.” I had to hold in my groan and eye roll. Not again with this. “When you signed your acceptance letter to the Academy, you agreed to be a representative for the school as long as you were a student here. A pupil of the Royal Ballet Academy must always be aware of how her actions reflect upon her peers, her instructors, and the institution that she is training to be a part of.”

A quick glance in the mirror afforded me the knowledge that none of the girls dared look in my direction. _Maybe she doesn’t even mean me_ , I thought hopefully as I started the tendus on my left foot. Madam had already given this speech, and the tour yesterday hadn’t been nearly as embarrassing as the club incident. As she continued her lecture, however, I was unsurprised to find it extremely applicable, which I assumed was not a coincidence. “An RBA girl must be classy, and driven by her determination to have the career she has always dreamed of, the career that she has spent seventeen years hoping to achieve. Before you make decisions that could jeopardize your time here, girls, you must remember the early weekend workshops you attended while some of your less talented peers slept in. Remember your parents driving you to every class, sitting through every recital. Remember your first class on pointe, your first pas de duex workshop. Remember all the time your parents, your instructors, and _you_ have put into becoming the most talented dancer you can be, leading you here, to the Royal Ballet Academy.”

God, she was laying it on thick. And the sad part was, she didn’t even have to try that hard. I already felt guilty because of what I was doing, or wasn’t doing. I had just had these same thoughts Saturday night. Of course, even if Madam already knew that, which she probably did, she still had one more ace in her pocket. I’d been humiliated during the first speech, but I was that times ten now. The beauty of it was that I couldn’t respond. I could offer no explanation, no defense of my actions. I couldn’t give her a smart-mouthed reply. I couldn’t even tell her that I agreed with her. Instead, all I could do was slide my right food into second position, plie, and start tendus again.

“What, exactly, are you willing to sacrifice, girls? What parts of your life have you let go in order to ensure that you were here today? For some, it may have been financial sacrifices. Others may have wanted to go to a more conventional university. But all of you have made sacrifices, big ones, to get what you wanted. The skill will serve you well in the future, just as it’s done in the past.” She paused, for dramatic effect, I assumed. “For what would you give all of that up? For what attractive option at the moment would you all of those sacrifices have been in vain? Whatever it is, girls, make sure it’s worth it. This is the chance of a lifetime, and once it’s gone, you can never get it back.”

As the pianist played the warm up music dully, I dared another look in the mirror. A girl who was more naïve might not have seen it, or might have convinced herself that it was a trick of the light. But I knew better. For fifteen years I’d been watched. Here, I’d spent hours on Saturday being watched, albeit not quiet as subtly. In any event, I caught Madam staring right at me. I didn’t look in the mirror again that morning.

***

Bianca didn’t say anything to me all day regarding Madam’s take on my new friendship, and if I didn’t know her so well I would have taken her silence for agreement. I knew, though, that she was just waiting for me to bring it up first, which I eventually did, right before bed. We were both awake, Bianca reading a _Cosmo_ , I going over history notes, when I finally turned to her. “The thing is,” I started, as if we’d been in the middle of a conversation. “When you get the chance of a lifetime, it’s a no-brainer. But when you get two, at the same time? I mean…it doesn’t even make sense!”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “I can’t _believe_ I’m sitting here, listening to you complain about Prince Harry.”

I glared at her. Bianca was the one who had warned me against Harry two weeks ago in the first place. She couldn’t go back on her word now. “ _This_ from the girl who put ‘our children could be gingers’ on a list of reasons not to go out with him again.”

Bored, Bianca flipped the page of her Cosmo. “Well yeah. But that was before.”

“Before what?” I snapped.

“Before I knew you weren’t an idiot little school girl with a crush,” she snapped back. “If you’re worrying about it this much then you obviously aren’t going to throw away your future to be some boring, stuffy, useless – “

“I get it.”

“Well it’s true. Don’t listen to Madam. She doesn’t know anything about you, or the sacrifices you’ve made. You made a friend. He happens to be quite famous. So what? It’s not 1900.” Closing her magazine, she rolled over and turned off her bedside lamp. “Don’t be so traditional. You _know_ his mum wouldn’t approve of that.” And with that one phrase, I stopped worrying about it, and went to sleep.

***

After conditioning on Monday, it wasn’t hard to see that Madam was really coming into her own while giving these speeches to us about how we needed to be committed to dancing…or, more specifically, about how _I_ needed to be committed to dancing. She still wasn’t mentioning me by name, but it was clear. When Bianca and I walked into the studio in the morning, several girls tried to stuff their copies of the _Telegraph_ into their bags, pretending like they hadn’t been reading about the tour of London that Harry had given me. So when Madam held us all back a moment after class, I was terrified that she had decided to give two lectures that day, or that she was going to call me out. I bit down on my nails and looked at Bianca. She shrugged and gave me a sympathetic look. 

“Ladies, as many of you already know, the Royal Ballet Company is currently halfway through a month-long run of _Cinderella_.” We nodded in acknowledgment. “It appears as though there has been a flu breakout among the corps, and several of the girls have fallen ill.” This wasn’t rare. You spent all day, every day around the girls that you danced with. Viruses being passed around was inevitable. “In order to fill spaces, the other instructors and I have thought that it would be a good opportunity for the first year girls to get experience on the stage before our production of _The Nutcracker_.” There was excited chatter, but Madam quieted us. “I will spend the next week deciding which girls will be dancing in the corps.”

“How many spots are there, Madam?” a girl near the front asked.

“Eight,” Madam said. There was a tangible deflation around the group. “But use this week to show me that you should be one of those eight girls. That is all, you may go.”

As Bianca and I walked to the showers, I turned to her and asked out of the corner of my mouth, “Could I have picked a _worse_ time to pal around with Harry?”

Bianca wasn’t listening. “Oh my God. Who do you think she’ll pick? Do you think this morning’s conditioning counted? Because my turnout could have been better.”

Figuring that her line of questioning was more important, I got on board. This meant that I was going to have to spend the next week acting like I hadn’t just spent Sunday with Harry, and wasn’t planning on spending next Sunday with him, either. Bianca and I decided to add on some extra practice time at night, along with the rest of the girls in the class who had the same brilliant idea. I was relieved, though, that this news greatly overshadowed my tour with Harry. I didn’t see any tabloids or hear anyone gossiping about me all week. 

Bianca and I were wide-awake Thursday night, knowing that Madam would make the announcement after conditioning on Friday. “If we don’t get it, it’s not the end of the world,” I tried to reassure us. 

Acting like she was totally calm about the whole thing, Bianca shrugged casually. “Sure. I mean, we’ll still get into _The Nutcracker_. It’s not like it’s spring workshop. It’s just one show.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. The phone rang and we both jumped. I took a deep, calming breath before picking it up. I couldn’t keep the anxiety out of my voice as I asked, “Hello?”

“Roxy? It’s your mother, not the Grim Reaper.”

I sighed with relief that it wasn’t Madam telling me I had no hope, and with disappointment that it wasn’t Madam telling me I was in. “Oh. Hi Mom. Sorry, Bianca and I are just really nervous about class tomorrow.” I explained to my mom what was going with _Cinderella_ before asking, “So what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing’s up, just working, and doing book club with the rest of the ladies, and going to the gym. Oh, you know, there _was_ something weird that happened to me the other day. I was in the teacher’s lounge when one of the younger gym teachers showed me a _People Magazine_ , and there was a picture of someone who looked like you in it.” I winced. “But I know it couldn’t have been _you_ , Roxanna, because if _my daughter_ had met _Prince Harry_ and _gone on a date with him_ , I _know_ she would have called her _mother_ to tell her.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized, slapping my forehead. “I’ve just been trying not to make a big deal about it.”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s a big deal!”  
I let out a sigh, this time definitely one of relief, and explained everything to my mom. I told her all about how I had met Harry, and about the picture that made it looked like he was groping me. I told her about how Madam had reacted, and how Harry had shown up in my room with an apology and a plan for damage control. I told her about the tour, everything about how sometimes Harry looked just like his mother, and how I didn’t know what to say when he talked about her. I told her about the awesome things he’d shown me, and how he’d asked me to the Old Boys game, and how that was so far out of my mind since I’d been working my ass off all week to get a part in Cinderella. My mom listened, giving me advice when I asked for it, just listening when I didn’t. She was such a good sounding board; I wondered why I hadn’t told her all of this before now. “You might not be able to remember a lot of the stuff that happened with his mother,” she told me. “You were too young. But Roxy…from what I’ve heard, it wasn’t a very good relationship.”

“Between who?” I asked, confused.

“Between Diana and the family.” My mom paused before explaining, “It all seemed very cold and calculated. They weren’t sympathetic to her at all.”

“Well, that was twenty years ago. Harry isn’t cold or calculated,” I assured her. Where was she going with this?

“Just be careful, is all, Roxy.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I am.”

We said goodnight and I hung up, telling Bianca what my mom had said. She didn’t look surprised and we turned the light off to try to go to sleep again. It wasn’t five minutes before the shrill ring of the phone sounded once more. “For fuck’s sake!” Bianca snapped, picking it up and shouting, “What?” into the receiver. She looked embarrassed before holding it out to me. “It’s for you.”

I knew who it was just from her tone of voice. “Hello?”

“What in the bloody hell is going on over there?” Harry asked. “B sounds like she’s ready to kill someone.”

“She may be. We’re a little stressed out about school.”

“Oh,” Harry said slowly. “Well I don’t want to interrupt. I just wanted to talk to you about Sunday. Do you have a moment?”

Chewing on my lip, I replied, “Um…you know what? I actually should probably go. Can I call you tomorrow?” I didn’t want to have a conversation that would stress me out any more than I already was. 

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “You ladies get some sleep. And uh…try to relax, will you?”

I promised we would before hanging up. “All right, B, you’re not allowed to answer the phone ever again.” 

“Fine with me,” she told me before she rolled over and went to sleep.

***

I woke up at three in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. On a normal day, I would be awake at six, so I figured that three more hours wouldn’t be that long. I was wrong. It was excruciating, just lying in bed, going over the last week, analyzing everything. I remembered every correction Madam had given me, every flick of the wrist that had been less than stellar. As I tried to punch my pillow into a more comfortable shape, I thought about how strange it was that, just days ago, _Cinderella_ hadn’t even mattered. Now it was the most important thing in my life. 

When I had determined that there was no hope of getting any more sleep, I got out of bed, put on some workout clothes, and went to Regent’s Park for a run. Regent’s was the park that Harry had shown me with all the daffodils. As I jogged past the flowers now, I realized that I had hardly thought of Harry all week. It had been nice, to be overanalyzing something not Harry related. 

While I ran, I tried to get out some of the stress I’d been feeling about _Cinderella_. What I’d said to Bianca last night had been true. If I didn’t get into this show, it wasn’t the end of the world. There would be other shows, other opportunities for me to prove to Madam and the organization that I was a talented dancer. But to not get into the first thing I was really trying for here would destroy me. Plus, I would never know if it was really because I was a terrible dancer, or if it was because of everything that had happened with Harry.

By the time I made it back to the dorm, a few photographers had caught me on my run. Great, because I _really_ wanted pictures of me looking sweaty and exhausted. Annoyed, I made my way into the showers. When I got back to the room to get dressed, Bianca was ready to go to class…which didn’t start for another hour. She looked at me, clearly shocked. “Where were you?”

“I went for a run,” I told her.

She looked even more shocked. “ _You_? Went _running_?” Bianca knew that I absolutely hated anything that even remotely resembled exercise. 

I chuckled and it came out sounding nervous, which I was. We spent the next several minutes in a silence that probably would have driven us insane, except that Bianca flicked the TV on. Apparently, Will and Kate had set a date for the wedding. April 29th. It would be a bank holiday, which meant we’d get the day off from school. “Nice,” Bianca noted, marking it on the calendar. 

Since I had so much time, I slowly rolled on my pink tights, pulled up my black leotard, slipped on fluffy leg warmers, tied a silky skirt around my waist, and threw on a sweater made specifically for ballerinas. When I was dressed, I twirled my hair into French braid pigtails and sighed at my reflection in the mirror. “Okay. Are you ready?” I asked Bianca.

She gave me a desperate look and answered, “No,” before grabbing her dance bag and heading for the door. We got to the studio ten minutes early and most of the girls were already there. It was sort of comforting to know that we weren’t the only ones who were totally freaked out about today. I stuffed my sweater and leg warmers into my dance bag and put on my ballet slippers before taking my place at the barre. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt a swooping feeling in my stomach as I realized that in a few minutes, I’d be put out of my misery. From the pale color of Bianca’s face, she’d just realized the same thing.

The girls practically saluted when Madam walked in. “Ladies,” she announced, and we all turned to face her. “I have decided not to leave you in suspense for the next three hours, so I’ll read you the list of names of the girls I’ve chosen now.” I sucked in a breath and reached for Bianca’s hand. She gave me a good luck squeeze, which I reciprocated. “Lindsay Adams.” Lindsay turned and hugged her friend next to her. “April Bettancourt.” While April and Lindsay hugged, my palms got sweaty as I realized that Madam was going to read the names in alphabetical order. I was closer to the front, whereas Bianca was going to be left until the end, if either of us made it. My heartbeat started speeding up like a motor. “Jane Carlisle.” Jane hissed out a “yes!” before thanking Madam. 

That was already three, and there were only eight, and none of them had been Bianca or me. A lump formed in my throat as Madam’s eyes flicked back down to her list. She cleared her throat. “Sara Dawes.” Sara whooped, jumped in the air, and hugged Lindsay Adams. I was overcome with an irrational hatred for both of them.

Madam waited for the girls to settle down. “Ladies, please.” The four girls who were admitted (which was 50%, I realized panicking) all joined together to congratulate one another. I glared at them as Madam looked back at her list. She looked up, gave us all a kind smile, and announced, “Roxanna DeLaSearle.” Before the second syllable was even out of her mouth, Bianca and I were hugging each other, jumping up and down. I could have cried, I was so happy. 

I caught Madam’s glare and settled down, still holding Bianca’s hand, even harder than I’d been before. “You’ll get it,” I whispered to her. She gave me a doubtful look.

Madam announced Jodie McAndrews, Chelsea Parker, and Greta Sinclare. I tried not to show Bianca how nervous I was. If she didn’t get it, and I did, I’d feel too guilty to enjoy any of it. Besides, without Bianca it wouldn’t be any fun. I didn’t know any of those other girls, not as well as I knew B. I knew that these were selfish reasons for wanting her to be a part of the show, but the biggest reason that I wanted her in was because I knew she deserved it. She had a better extension than Sara and Jodie, and she had better technique than Chelsea. Bianca deserved it – I didn’t want her to be wrecked if she didn’t get it. 

“All right ladies, and for the eighth spot, Bianca Winchester,” Madam announced.

Bianca and I let out identical squeals and threw our arms back around each other. “I knew you’d get it!” I told her.

“I knew you would, too!” she vowed.

“Ladies,” Madam called. “Do you think you could celebrate in private so we can hold class this morning?”

Giggling like idiots, B and I broke apart. Later, as we stood in line to go across the floor, Bianca leaned forward and asked quietly, “Can I have my phone answering privileges back?” I giggled and told her that she’d fully earned them back.


	5. Target Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

As a rule of thumb, Americans don’t watch soccer. Sure, everybody seems to care during the World Cup, and we might have watched an L.A. Galaxy match if David Beckham was playing for a second, and few people would forget Landon Donovan’s eleventh-hour goal in 2010. Generally speaking, though, soccer and America don’t mix. Add in the extra confusion by calling it “football” (a game Americans do actually enjoy) everywhere else on the planet, and things only get worse. So I basically had no idea what I was doing at Eton, and told Harry as much over the phone the night before. “Are you going to bend it like Beckham?” I asked.

“Roxy, do you even know what that means?” he’d replied patiently.

“Of course I do!” I’d insisted. “It means…Beckham…bends it…and uh…that’s good?”

“Very astute,” Harry had chuckled, before explaining to me that bending it like Beckham was practically an art form and no, he wouldn’t be doing so. “But I will be doing loads of other impressive things, like beating Wills.”

I paused. “Come again?”

“What, do you think I can’t beat him? Because I can,” Harry bristled.

“Your brother is going to be there?” I’d asked, and Bianca had sat straight up in her bed.

“Yeah. Why?” Harry had asked.

Rubbing the migraine that was suddenly pounding between my eyes, I sighed. “I just didn’t know that.”

“You don’t have to meet him, if you don’t want to,” he’d offered.

Relieved, I’d thanked him. “Is anyone else going to be there that I should know about? Your dad? The Queen?”

Harry chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. Bring Bianca, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Oh, I will,” I’d assured him before hanging up and informing Bianca that she was coming with me. 

So on Sunday afternoon, Bianca and I drove in her mini down the gravel road leading up to Eton. I’d grown up a stone’s throw away from Princeton University, and had walked the grounds many times, knowing just how intimidating the gothic-style architecture must be to an actual student. Eton’s buildings were even scarier. For starters, they were older. And at Princeton, you may be a genius, but even geniuses went to class in pajamas. It was Sunday afternoon and the students going back to their dorms from church looked like they were all part of some high-end menswear catalogue. Oh, and there were no girls at Eton. As opposed to RBA, where there were practically only girls. I was starting to like the looks of Eton…Of course, I was starting to like the looks of everything outside of the RBA gates after the stress of the last week.

Bianca followed the sign for the Old Boys game and parked her car alongside dozens of others. The mini was probably the only one that cost less than six figures (although Bianca’s family certainly had the means to have gotten her a car like that). I was relieved to see that there was no one allowed inside the roped off area who didn’t have an official invitation. The members of the press were restrained to outside the perimeter, which was quite far off. I knew their super enhanced lenses could still snap pictures, but they wouldn’t be all up in my face all day. It felt more comfortable knowing that most of the people here actually knew Harry and weren’t complete strangers, which meant that I wouldn’t be treated like I’d sprouted nine extra heads.

By the time we got there, the game was already a few minutes into the first quarter. Again, I had enlisted Bianca’s help in putting together an outfit suitable for the occasion. We’d decided on dark wash skinny jeans, a pair of Bianca’s rain boots (she called them “wellies”), and a gray cami under a brown cable-knit sweater under a faux-fur vest. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and I was wearing a pair of sunglasses. I knew Kate Middleton usually wore her hair down or under a hat, especially to outdoor events, but it was a breezy day and I didn’t want to spend all of it brushing the hair out of my face. Also, hats weren’t really my thing, as I’d realized after my last outing. In fact, the _Daily Mail_ had run an entire article about how I was trying too hard to be Kate. It had featured nice side-by-side photos of us in nearly identical outfits, only they’d been able to identify everything I’d worn as coming from Target or some equally cheap store in the mall (except the things Bianca had loaned me, which they’d conveniently left out of their description), and everything Kate was wearing as the latest designer couture. To say it was embarrassing was an understatement.

When we reached the grounds around the field (or “pitch” as Harry, Bianca, and J.K. Rowling called it), I realized that I had no idea where to go or what I was supposed to be doing. Was I supposed to stand somewhere? Was it appropriate for me to start the “ole ole ole ole” chant from the sidelines? How about the wave? I doubted that I should be doing either…

“Roxy! Over here!” I looked over to my left, where Guy and Piers were waving there arms like mad men under a white tent. The tent was huge and, as I got closer I saw that it was equipped with a full bar and a buffet full of gourmet foods. Not your usual tailgate fare of burgers, hot dogs, and cheap beer. “Glad you could make it,” Guy greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a warm embrace. Piers, too, gave me a genuine welcome. It felt nice, and even better when they greeted Bianca in the same friendly manner. It was like I’d known them my whole life. When I thought more about it, I guessed it sort of made sense. We were all under the same “Friends of Harry Wales” umbrella now. We’d better stick together.

“So, who’s winning?” I asked.

Piers laughed. “Nobody yet. There may never be a winner.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“We’re British. We don’t have fun,” Piers deadpanned.

Guy chuckled and held out his Fosters can to me. Okay, so maybe there was cheap beer. “Do you want one, Roxy? Bianca?” When we both turned him down, he pushed further. “Suit yourself, but it won’t be as fun if you’re not drinking.” After a bit of small talk, Guy asked, “So have you met the heir, Roxy?”

“I haven’t yet had the pleasure,” I told him, before admitting, “and Harry’s assured me that I won’t today, either.”

Guy waved a hand. “He’s not that bad.”

“Except the conjoined fetus attached to his side that no one ever talks about,” Piers solemnly told me. “It’s really weird, and he hates when people stare at it, so if you do…” He trailed off, finishing his statement by dragging a finger across his neck.

“Oh great, just what I need, a headline in _Tatler_ tomorrow, ‘Roxy Offends Prince William By Staring At His Gross Conjoined Fetus’!” I joked with them.

Bianca shrugged. “It’ll make for a more interesting read than ‘Prince Harry Grabs Girl’s Boob in a Club’.”

“Did you read that one, Bianca?” Guy asked curiously.

“Oh yes. Dreadfully boring,” she told him.

By the half we’d made up a horrible rumor for almost every member of the royal family, and created headlines exposing them. I was clutching my stomach with laugher by the time Harry jogged over to us. His cheeks were flushed, making his gorgeous eyes stand out. His russet hair was kind of a mess, his clothes grass-stained. The way I was most drawn to him, however, I noticed somewhat embarrassingly, was by scent. He smelled warm, like Harry, only… _moreWhat_?”

Laughing, Piers explained our game to him and Harry, amused, went along with it. “I’m not even the real Harry Wales. I’m the love child of Michael Jackson and McCauley Culkin, but they didn’t want me to have tests run on me my whole life, scientific wonder that I am, so they gave me to my parents.”

We all broke up into laughter and wiping his eyes, Guy called out, “And we have a winner!”

“Guy, Piers, Wills wanted to say hi,” he told them. They immediately put down their beer cans and walked to the opposite end of the field. Sensing Harry’s intention, Bianca claimed she wanted a glass of wine and made her way to the bar. “So, how are you enjoying your first football match?” he asked me.

“It’s fun,” I told him. “Although this 0-0 score thing is getting old.”

“Ah. Sorry about that, I’ll try harder next time,” he jokingly apologized. 

“Please do,” I begged. “Your friends are great.”

He shrugged. “I guess they’re all right. I’ll keep them around.”

“You should. I like them. They’re easy to talk to,” I told him.

Wiping the back of his neck with his sweat rag, Harry slowly told me, “So is Wills.” When I opened my mouth to object, Harry already sensed what was coming and waved a hand. “Okay, okay. Never mind. But I don’t see what the big deal is.”

I knew what Harry thought: that it was annoying that I was making it into an issue when it didn’t have to be, and that he was tired of people acting that way. I, too, had grown up under the shadow of an older sibling. In reality, William’s elevated position in the monarchy had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it. Meeting him would be meeting the family, and I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted to do yet. Luckily, there wasn’t time to try and convey this to Harry before the whistle blew, signaling the end of half time. “Look, I’m going to have to shake hands after, but do you want to get a drink with the guys and me?”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Harry’s face broke out into a smile. “Cool. So, I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be here,” I smiled back as he turned and jogged back onto the field. 

Almost the instant he was gone, the other three returned. “Are you coming out with us after?” Guy asked. “Don’t worry, Wills won’t be there. He doesn’t get to do fun stuff any more.”

“Tough life,” Bianca sarcastically noted.

I told Guy we were going and then looked out onto the field. The whistle blew to signal the start of the third quarter and, a few minutes in, Harry winked at me, and kicked the ball straight into the goal.

***

After the Old Boys game, Harry’s friends along with Bianca and I went into a pub that Harry frequented, apparently. He didn’t seem concerned about people seeing him, and the bar was pretty empty. I was surprised that he would stop into a place like this. The carpet was worn, the brass on the bar was faded and scratched – it was a total dive. Not that I was complaining. I felt like I fit in here more than I would have at any of Harry’s lavish estates. 

Harry told us that the first round was on him and got us drinks. He handed me a frosted pint of Worthington and held out some darts to me. “Do you want to play?”

“If you want to lose,” I warned him. Harry looked surprised and I laughed before shaking my head. “No way, I’m totally kidding, I have absolutely no aim.”

“Oh, it can’t be as bad as all that,” he tried to reassure me. “Here, I’ll help you. Come on.” Taking me by the elbow, he drew me over to the dartboard. “Now come, stand here.” I obeyed and stood next to him. He took my hand and lifted it up to about eye-level. My back was pressed against his front. He was all warm and smelled like fresh cut grass and outside. It was delicious. When he talked, I could feel it on the back of my neck and I had to concentrate very hard not to shiver. “Now, when you throw, make sure you follow through with your whole arm, like this.” Dropping my hand, he demonstrated with his own dart. It hit the board just and inch or so above the bulls eye.

Wincing, I giggled. “Oh God…okay. I’ll try.” Attempting to recreate the position Harry had just showed me, I chucked the dart at the target. It hit the wall above the board. Letting out a loud laugh, I turned to Harry. “I’m hopeless!”

Shaking his head, Harry said, “No, you’re not, you’re not. You just…need practice.” He looked at my dart on the board, then back at me and added, “A _lot_ of practice.”

After a few rounds of darts, and after I finally managed to actually land a few on the board, Harry and I sat down at the bar. He got another Guinness while I switched to water. “So, Roxy the Ballerina.” I blushed and grinned. “How did you wind up at the RBA?”

I told Harry the story about auditioning for different schools with George and wanting to get out of New Jersey, and about my mom’s hesitation about schools in Europe. “So London was the most reasonable solution,” I ended the tale.

“Well, we’re glad to have you.” I blushed, which I assumed was Harry’s goal. “How long have you been dancing?”

Grinning, I quipped, “Fifteen years.”

“Fifteen _years_?” Harry repeated, baffled. “I haven’t done _anything_ for fifteen years.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like a pretty long time,” I acknowledged.

Harry shook his head. “Wow. So when do I get to see you dance?”

I nearly choked on my water. “Um, never.”

“Never?” he asked, looking offended. “Well that’s not very nice of you. I let you into my country, show you around, give you a history lesson, and you don’t even let me see you perform?”

“Oh please!” I laughed. “You also made my right boob famous! Don’t try to guilt trip me!”

“That’s like me saying you can never see me looking handsome and charming, and we both know I’ve already let you see that,” he pointed out.

Laughing louder, I disagreed. “What? No way! It would be like you not letting me see you fly helicopters.”

“All right, well then we’ll jump in an Apache,” Harry suggested. “Then can I see you dance?”

“Still no,” I automatically shut him down.

Harry looked around, making sure no one was listening, because leaning in closer. “You know, I could have your head for this, Roxanna.”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “You’re ridiculous!” I chided him.

We must have been causing quite a commotion, because Bianca, Guy, and Piers came back over to us at the bar from where they’d been shooting darts. “What’s funny?” Bianca asked, sipping a hard cider.

“Oh, nothing, Harry’s just threatening to lock me up in the Tower,” I told her.

“He does that,” Guy confirmed, scooping up a handful of nuts.

“What’d you do? Because usually he does it to us when we beat him at darts, and we _know_ you didn’t do that,” Piers smirked at me.

I shook my head. “No, you’re right. That’ll probably never happen. I told him he can’t come see me dance.”

“Oh, so you told him about _Cinderella_?” When I glared at Bianca, her eyes widened and her mouth opened into a small O. “You hadn’t, had you…”

“No, I _hadn’t_ ,” I hissed at her.

“What? What’s all this?” Harry looked to Bianca for an answer, but she and the guys sense my discomfort and made an excuse to head back over to the dartboard. Turning back to me, Harry asked, “Cinderella?”

With a sigh, I explained to him, “Yeah. The RBA is doing it and usually they don’t ask the first-years, but apparently they needed to fill some empty spots and they wanted us to get experience before we have to do _The Nutcracker_ with the entire school so now I’m in _Cinderella_. So is Bianca.”

“And I suppose I’m not allowed to come?” I gave Harry a flat look by way of response. “Come on now, why not?”

I didn’t want to admit that I’d feel embarrassed if he saw me in a tutu and stage makeup, but I didn’t want to tell him about Madam’s lectures, either. “I just… don’t think it would be a good idea. I mean, it would cause a scene with the other girls and everything.”

Harry stared at me like he was trying to make out if I was lying or not. After a few moments, he finally relaxed, shrugging. “Well all right. I guess that’s okay.”

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Oh, do I have your permission, Your Royal Highness?”

Disgruntled, Harry agreed, “I suppose.”

I laughed and he grinned as I gave him a playful shove. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “It’s because I’m a ginger.”


	6. A Friend of Importance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Growing up, I didn’t always have it easy. There were weeks when it seemed like it was impossible for me to get along with anyone - not Grace, not my mom, not the other girls in my dance classes. There were weeks when I felt like I was failing every test I took at school. There were weeks when I had to wake up and go to school, and practice routines, and go to dance class, and I would forget to do silly things like eat or sleep. It had been typical teenage things, but at the time it had felt like the end of the world. In hindsight, if I would have known how hard things were going to get on this particular week, I would have thought of those past “rough times” as a vacation.

The first half of our days remained unchanged. Conditioning, academic classes, then our workshops. On a normal day, we were out of school by three. For the next two weeks, however, we would be going from our workshops straight to the theater for rehearsals with the rest of the company. This meant rehearsing in front of Madam, as well as in front of the director of the company, Monsieur Reims. If the worst thing about Madam was that she berated us too much, the worst thing about Monsieur was that he pretended we didn’t exist. 

The two principle dancers were Victoria White and Stanley Glass, and it was made very clear to us that we were to stay out of their way. Victoria White was beautiful, her technique was flawless, her extension seemed physically impossible, and her relationship with Stanley was a perfect relationship between two principle dancers. They seemed like they were best friends, or even siblings. They could communicate without saying anything, just by looking at each other. More than once I heard them finish each other’s sentences. It would have been kind of romantic if Stanley wasn’t obviously gay. He was talented in his own right, probably more talented than any other male dancer I’d ever seen, including George. He was elegant and masculine at the same time, two things which didn’t seem like they’d naturally go together, but Stanley didn’t look like he was working on it at all. Neither of them made it look like work. 

After we were treated like we were the last insects on the food chain, we had a thirty-minute dinner break, and then went back to rehearsing. By the time we’d get back to our rooms around half past nine, Bianca and I barely had the energy to shower and crawl into bed. At least, this way, with our days filled up there was no extra time to sit around being stressed out about how we’d actually be performing on Friday night.

The week seemed to fly by in a bleary haze. I didn’t realize it was Thursday until Monsieur said that we’d be in front of an audience tomorrow. “That went by fast,” Bianca noticed once we’d returned to our rooms.

“I know. Thank God we’re only in the corps. We’ll be so faded into the background no one will notice us,” I said, relieved.

B chuckled. “I’ll bet that’s the only time you’ve said that in your life.”

I had showered and was drying my hair when the phone rang. “Hello?” I yawned.

“Roxy?” Harry asked.

Chuckling, I apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m so exhausted from all of these rehearsals.”

“Oh, well I won’t keep you then. I was just calling to ask one more time if you might let me come see you,” Harry asked.

Groaning, I shook my head. “Harry, no. It would be too embarrassing.”

“All right, all right,” he appeased me. “So you open tomorrow night?”

“Well, we open tomorrow night. The show’s been running for weeks. It’ll only be a couple of shows, but it’s a lot to work for.”

“Is it worth it?” Harry asked, sounding like he doubted it.

I laughed. “Yes! Of course it is! It’s like…most people would get an internship in school. This is like our internship.”

“Ah,” Harry let out, sounding like he understood. “Well listen, since you’ll be so busy over the next couple of weeks, why don’t you give me your mobile number so I can text you.”

Raising an eyebrow I asked, “Why don’t you give me yours?”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“You’re very agreeable tonight.”

“It doesn’t happen often, so you’d better take advantage,” he warned me.

I agreed with him and we exchanged cell numbers. It seemed strange that Harry would have a cell phone just like everyone else, but of course he did. When I woke up the next morning, I had a text wishing me good luck tonight. My heart warmed and Bianca made a noise of disgust. “Roxy, once we’re done with the show, we’re going to have another serious discussion about why you shouldn’t be getting romantically involved with this person,” she reminded me.

“We’re just friends,” I insisted, but I knew that the lines were blurring dangerously here…and the truth was that I kind of liked it.

*** 

There was a show Friday afternoon and another Friday night, and the same was true of Saturday. We had off on Sunday and I was looking forward to it from the moment I woke up the day before. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to be able to push myself through two more shows. The answer was with a lot of coffee, apparently. Bianca and I were running on fumes. We were the kind of tired where nothing made sense and everything was hilarious.

Between the two shows, we had to make the tough choice to nap or eat. Bianca wanted to nap, but I convinced her to save her sleeping until we could really do a good job at it. With our hair still up in stiff buns and our faces full of stage make up, we went out to a Pret a Manger to grab a sandwich. The girl running the register smiled automatically when she saw me. “You’re Roxy DeLaSearle,” she breathed out.

“I am, and I don’t normally dress like a drag queen,” I explained to her. When we left I turned to Bianca. “Wow, I haven’t left the grounds in a really long time. I kind of forgot people know what I look like.”

“Well if that girl says anything to the press, they’ll think you look like Ronald McDonald,” she joked, and we laughed, heading to go back to the theater. 

When we were a block away, Bianca held her arm out for me to stop walking. I paused and looked in the same direction as she was. “Oh, shit.” There was an overwhelming amount of paparazzi swarming outside. 

“Is this about you?” Bianca asked, giving me a scrutinizing stare. Shrugging, I mumbled some unintelligible response. If it was about me, I had no idea how anyone would know I was doing the show, but I guessed the press had a way of knowing things. Harry had told me they’d find things out. “Here, let’s go this way,” Bianca proposed, pointing around to the backstage entrance. When we did, we both headed to the makeup mirrors in the communal dressing room, but someone yanked me away from Bianca.

With a sinking heart, I looked up to see Madam. She dropped my arm and crossed both of her own over her chest. When she only puckered her mouth like she’d been eating a lemon, but didn’t say anything, I cautiously asked, “Madam?” 

“I assume you know what is going on here,” she said through her pursed lips in a clipped tone.

“Actually, I have no idea,” I told her honestly.

She raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing me, before stating pointedly, “I believe you’ve recently made an acquaintance of some… _importance_.” It was the first time she was actually acknowledging that I was friends with Harry, which seemed weird after all her lectures.

_Shit_ , I thought. Harry was here, and someone had tipped off to the press that he would be. “Madam,” I started, “I had no idea he was going to come.”

“Well, he has,” she snapped, “and I suggest you make as little of a spectacle of yourself as possible.”

My mouth opened as frustration choked my voice back. Spectacle? I hadn’t been trying to make a spectacle at all! I hadn’t even known he was coming! In fact, I’d told him _not_ to!

“Now get in there and get your make up touched up,” she instructed. I could only manage to nod before making my way over to the backstage dressing room. It wasn’t really a room, just an open space with costume racks and plenty of mirrors for doing make up. It was usually crowded with frantic dancers mending tears in leotards or spritzing even more hairspray over their buns, but now all the girls had congregated around one make up mirror. “What’s going on?” I asked, coming up behind Bianca.

She whipped around, grinning at me from ear to ear. “They’re for you,” she squealed. All of the girls, giggling, backed away from the mirror to reveal a bouquet of daffodils, like the ones we'd seen in the park on our tour and I'd admired. Swearing quietly under my breath, I took a quick look around to make sure Madam wasn’t lurking nearby. Unfortunately for me, she was, arms crossed, mouth puckered again. Bianca followed my gaze and cleared her throat. “All right people, move along, nothing to see here,” she bellowed, and the girls dispersed. Turning back to me, Bianca waved a hand casually. “Don’t worry about her. For now, just enjoy the flowers.”

I tried to take her advice, but it didn’t seem possible, at least not until we were all on stage. The distraction of Act I allowed me to forget about the flowers and photographers, but as soon as the curtain fell for intermission Madam was in the wings, tapping her foot disapprovingly and glaring at me. “Your _guest_ has requested a visit with you,” she told me.

“Well…tell him I’m busy,” I offered.

She looked both shocked and horrified. “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you will see him!” she insisted, obviously growing impatient with whatever it was that I had done to offend her.

I could feel Victoria White and Stanley Glass staring at me and I tried not to meet their gazes as I felt my face flushing. This was _not_ a fairy tale moment. Cinderella had never been scolded for associating with someone...she’d just been confined to a life of servitude. All right, maybe my present situation was better, but still, this had probably never happened to Kate Middleton, either. Fuming at the injustice of all of this, I followed Madam back through the wings to a private, empty dressing room. “Wait here,” Madam instructed.

As soon as she shut the door, I flopped down on the couch in the barren room, my tulle tutu ruffling. Violently, I tugged at my shoe ribbons. Once in high school I’d been so mad I’d flung my shoe across the room. Remembering the satisfying bang the toe had made against the drywall, I held my shoe in my hand, calculating how bad of an idea it was. The room was empty, I reasoned, nothing could break…A knock on the door interrupted my decision-making process and I stood up as Harry entered. “Nice outfit,” he smirked.

I wanted to smack that smirk off his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he offered, clearly not seeing what the problem was. “You told me you were doing this tonight and I just wanted to see what it was that you do, exactly.”

“And the press?” I asked. “Did you want them to see what it is that I do? And with who? And when, and where, and – “

“I get it,” Harry stopped me, holding his hands up to guard himself against my fury. “Look, I didn’t mean to cause all that.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I asked, “Well what did you _think_ would happen?”

Either unable or unwilling to take what I was verbally throwing at him any longer, Harry exploded. “You have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, Roxy,” he insisted, half-shouting. His pale cheeks started to turn red. “If you think _that_ was press, you’re being incredibly naïve! That was a fraction, a _thousandth_ of what I deal with day-to-day. So yeah, you’re right, I didn’t even _notice_ ,” he spat.

“Well maybe it’s time to think about something other than _yourself_!” I shouted, failing to be intimidated by his uproar.

“You know, none of my other friends seem to complain about this!”

“Well maybe that’s because all of the rest of your friends are wannabes and fakers!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. That wasn’t even true. Guy and Piers had known Harry since grade school. He trusted them, and with good reason.

“How _dare_ you talk to me like that?” Harry shouted, taking a few steps towards me and towering over me. “Do you know – “

“Who you are?” I finished for him. The question wasn’t lost on either of us. According to my mother, according to Tina Brown, Harry’s dad had asked Princess Diana this question in the heat of their arguments. 

Harry stopped and blinked, searching my eyes for the anger that was there, and maybe some compassion. “I’m sorry,” he offered, holding his hands up again. “Roxy, I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath. As much as I might have wanted an apology, I hadn’t actually expected one, and I definitely wasn’t blameless here. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too," I admitted, more than a little ashamed of my behavior. "I shouldn’t have said those things about your friends. I don’t even really think that.”

He thanked me and then shook his head. “I’ve been a daft prick.”

“No you haven’t. Now stop it, you know I hate all that charming Englishman crap.” Harry was quiet. “Just…think before you do things, okay? And listen to me when I tell you I don’t want you to come here.”

He nodded. “I will. I promise. I just wasn’t thinking. But Roxy, this was a relatively small amount of photographers. It’s only going to get worse.”

Waving a hand, I shook my head. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.”

With a knowing look, Harry warned, “You _have_ come to it.” We were silent for a moment, letting the density of that statement fill the space between us. I was suddenly aware of how dry my throat was, how heavy the make up was on my face, how the cool tiles of the floor felt against my stockinged feet. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Harry cleared his throat. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

“Come over?” I asked, leaning down to look in the mirror and try to touch up my make up.

“Yeah. My brother’s been away for work all week, but he’s home and we’re going to have a Bond marathon.”

Rolling my eyes, I reminded him, “Harry, girls don’t _do_ Bond marathons.”

“Kate’s a girl,” he shrugged.

I stood up straight so fast that I thought I’d given myself whiplash. “What?”

He paused, unsure of which part of his statement was unclear. “Kate’s coming over to watch our Bond marathon? And she’s a girl?” he repeated slowly.

“Kate Middleton is going to be there?” I asked again, clutching his hands.

“No, Kate Moss. Yes Kate Middleton. That’s who my brother’s engaged to, the last time I checked,” he stated.

Letting out a squeal, I threw my arms around him. “Oh my God! Yes! Bond Fest! Let’s do it!”

Unlinking my arms from around his neck, Harry placed his hands on my shoulders. “All right, but you have to be cool. You can’t call her ‘Kate Middleton.’ She’s just Kate. Do you think you can do that?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Let’s give it a try.”

The lights dimmed a few times and Harry kissed me on the cheek. “You’re lovely. I’ll meet you after.”

“Actually…would you mind leaving?” I asked wincing.

“Leaving?” Harry blinked, surprised by this request.

Twisting my fingers in one hand, I tried to explain. “Yeah. I mean, you came, you saw, you conquered. You made your point, right? I mean, I appreciate the flowers and everything but…could you leave now?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “Yeah, all right. How will you get to Bond Fest then?”

Shrugging, I answered, “I can take a cab.”

He laughed, tilting his head back. “Roxy, you can’t take a taxi to Kensington Palace. I’ll send a car around for you.” With another kiss on the cheek, he left the dressing room. 

I emerged eventually as well, still feeling embarrassed, and met up with Bianca in the wings. As usual, she didn’t ask any questions, just waited for me to tell her what was going on. “I just agreed to go to Kensington Palace for a James Bond marathon with Prince William and Kate Middleton.”

“For God’s sake, Roxanna,” she hissed. “I thought you were done after the Old Boys game?”

“What is wrong with me? Why can I act like a totally normal person around him and then as soon as he’s gone I freak out?”

“I don’t know,” Bianca told me, “but you’re doing everything wrong.”

Holding a hand up, I nodded. “I know. I know. After Bond Fest, that’ll be it.” Bianca looked unconvinced, and I think we both knew I was probably lying. I could feel her staring at me as the house lights dimmed permanently. “Shut up,” I told her, and she obliged.


	7. Tiny Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry, I could handle. At the end of the day he was just like a frat boy, and while my stomach seemed to float up to my chest at the thought of meeting his brother, meeting Kate was a different sort of terrifying. In the back seat of the car Harry had sent for me I winced, just hoping that she hadn’t seen the article in the _Daily Mail_ about my outfit that was a cheap knockoff of hers. I couldn’t really pin down why meeting Kate was making my hands shake, but it was. To me, she represented a lot of different things that I wanted for myself, but wasn’t sure I’d ever have – classiness, determination, patience, and a happy ending. She probably never laughed too loud in public, never had awkward pauses in conversations, never said the wrong thing, and she _definitely_ never farted. Even when she’d broken up with Prince William, she’d never been caught crying into a pint of Ben  & Jerry’s while watching Bridget Jones. She’d just held her head high and made him see what he was missing. It had worked like a charm, but it was still something I could never see myself doing. 

“We’re here, miss,” the driver told me, pulling up to what could only be described as the largest garage on the planet. There were a variety of motorcycles as well as a white Volkswagon Golf, which I knew from the tabloids was William’s. As I got out of the car, Harry appeared through the door from the house to the large garage. “Thought you’d never get here!” he said, exasperated.

“Hey, I was wearing a _lot_ of make up. That stuff takes work to get off,” I reminded him, gesturing to my clean face. I felt like I’d lost at least a pound.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he nuzzled his face in my neck. “Mm, and you look beautiful,” he told me.

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable from this display of affection, I blushed and squirmed away from him, pretending to take in my surroundings. I didn’t have to pretend much. Kensington Palace looked like it had been decorated by the same people who had done Versailles…I imagined. But it still had that lived-in feel to it, like it wasn’t too big, but I knew that it was. Kensington Palace was broken up into a series of smaller “apartments,” but even this smaller division seemed huge. 

Frowning, Harry looked at me. “Uh, Roxy, your chest is getting all red.”

Looking down, I realized that a rash had broken out on my clavicle. It was dark red splotches, like someone had rubbed raspberries all over my chest. “Oh, yeah, that.”

Harry waited for an explanation, his eyebrows up. When I didn’t offer more information, he slowly asked, “That?”

I waved a hand. “Yeah, it’ll go away. I always get it when I’m nervous, like right before I go on stage or something.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” he noted.

“Well then I guess you don’t make me nervous,” I nudged his elbow.

“Why are you nervous now?”

“Because! I’m about to meet Kate Middleton!” I giggled, rocking up on my toes.

“I told you – you can’t use both names,” Harry reminded me. “Also, why are you so excited to meet someone you don’t know?”

Drumming my fingers across my mouth, I thought of how I could explain something that made no sense. “Well, I’m the most awkward person on the planet. And she’s like…the opposite of that. She knows how to dress herself, which is a talent I don’t have, and she’s got great hair.”

“So…you like her because she’s got great hair?”  
I shoved Harry’s shoulder playfully. “No, silly. I like her because she’s perfect.” Before Harry could point out that she wasn’t, I covered his mouth with my hand. “I know, I know she’s not really. She just seems to handle every situation perfectly, even situations where I would, like, freak out and not know what to do. She’s a less annoying version of Grace.”

Chuckling, he nodded. I couldn't remember when but at some point in our conversations I'd told him all about the dynamic between Grace and I. “Ah. I think I understand.” 

Harry brought me into the kitchen that was roughly five times the size of my dorm room, if not _much_ more than that. The cabinets were rich, shiny oak with gold handles. There was an island table in the center, where Harry’s older brother sat on a bar stool, and his fiance was shaking a martini shaker. I knew I was probably imagining it, but they seemed to have some aura around them – probably the glow of perfection. I gasped and hoped no one heard me. “Hey guys, this is Roxy.”

“Roxanna,” William said, getting up off the stool and striding over to me. He was even taller than Harry…and kind of ridiculously handsome. His voice made my knees weak and I felt myself giggle and blush a little, feeling stupid. The splotches were probably on full display. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Oh um…you, too…um…” I turned to Harry, not knowing how to address the heir to the throne.

“Roxy, for Christ’s sake, call him by his name,” Harry urged me, heading over to where Kate was pouring martinis, and popping an olive into his mouth.

I winced as I shook William’s hand. “But it feels so… _wrong_ ,” I told him apologetically.

Harry looked confused. “You never asked what to call me,” he pointed out.

Glaring at him, I made my way to the island where William, bred to be the perfect gentleman, had pulled out a stool for me. “That’s because I had already humiliated myself enough in front of you.”

Kate turned to me. “Hi, I’m Catherine. It’s lovely to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, yeah. The _Mail_ wrote a whole article about how I’m not as fashionable as you,” I blurted out.

“Well there goes hoping she hadn’t read it,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Kate laughed. “Who would write that?” she asked.

“Who would read it?” William asked.

Sheepishly, I raised my hand. “Well…I read it.”

Kate waved a hand and tasted her drink. The diamonds and sapphire in her engagement ring caught my eye and I reminded myself not to drool. “You can’t read that rubbish, darling, you’ll go mad. Now come on, let’s get this Sean Connery Marathon on the road.”

William turned to me as he led us into another room full of antique furniture, but also the most recent state-of-the-art home theater technology. “She thinks he’s sexy,” he said about Kate’s Sean Connery fanaticism.

“He _is_ ,” I insisted, taking my martini as she handed it to me. “So dreamy.”

“He’s like, sixty!” Harry protested, following us into the room.

“True love is ageless, Harry,” Kate told him knowingly. “Like Willie and I. I won’t always have the amazing looks I’ve got now.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, darling,” William told her. Hearing him referred to as "Willie" made me embarrassed, like I was in on a secret I shouldn't have been allowed to know about.

“Yeah, and besides, Will’s the way worse looking one in this relationship anyway,” Harry added, snickering at his own joke.

I rolled my eyes and sat on a plush, old-looking couch that I was sure was worth at least a semester of tuition at RBA. It occurred to me that if I was going to keep thinking of everything they owned in terms of dollars (or pounds) spent, I'd probably go completely insane very soon. “Harry, stop insulting your brother.”

He sat down next to me. “Don’t believe her, Will, she’s just hoping to get an invite to the wedding.”

I gasped and gave him a playful shove. “I am not! I don’t need an invite, I’ll just shove my way in, I don’t even care.” The others laughed and William started Dr. No. While the iconic Bond music played, I yawned and rested my head on Harry’s shoulder. In an effort to find a more comfortable position, Harry wrapped one arm around me, and we both lay down on the couch, kind of like we were half spooning. I would have had a problem with it, but my exhaustion quickly set in and my body felt like lead. I decided to close my stinging eyes, just for a second…

The next thing I knew, Harry was gently shaking me awake. “Roxy,” he crooned softly. “Roxanna.”

I sat straight up and instinctively wiped a hand across my mouth. “Oh God. Did I drool in front of Kate Middleton?” I whispered.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “No, you’re safe.” I breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at where William and Kate were wrapped in a cozy embrace. Kate was holding two empty martini glasses and I got the impression that the two of them were calling it quits for the night. 

“I should go,” I decided.

“Should you?” Harry asked. I smiled, confused, and Harry brushed some hair off my face. “Why don’t you stay? You’re clearly exhausted.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, thinking over what I wanted to do. I was exhausted, and I didn’t relish the idea of going back to my teeny dorm bed when I could stay the night at an actual palace. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I gave Harry a suspicious look. He picked up on what I was thinking and laughed. “Believe it or not, Roxy, we have plenty of extra rooms here.”

Again, I was relieved. “Well…if you’re sure it won’t be an imposition…”

“No imposition at all,” Harry assured me. With one quick motion, he’d picked up a white phone on an end table next to the couch. “This is Harry. I’m having a friend stay tonight. In the blue room. Roxy DeLaSearle. Yes, thank you.” When he hung up the phone, he looked at me. “See? It’s all taken care of.”

“Who were you on the phone with?” I asked. Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, and I realized that he was trying to think of the politically correct term to use for “servant.” Just this once, I decided to take him off the hot seat and waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s see this awesome blue room,” I proposed, getting off the couch.

“Good night, Roxanna,” Kate waved. “It was lovely to finally meet you.”

“Oh, likewise,” I gushed. “Harry had to tell me to act like a normal human being. This was so cool.”

William and Kate shared a private, amused smile, but I somehow didn’t feel like it was at my expense. Harry reached out and took my hand, leading me up a wide flight of stairs. I yawned and stared at all of the oil paintings on the walls, and the framed family pictures scattered about on tables in the hall. There was an adorable one of Harry in his christening gown, being held by his great-grandmother, the Queen Mum. I also noticed that, at some point, a man in a red blazer had started following us, although he stayed a few feet behind us. When Harry stopped in front of a door, there was another one across the hall being watched over by a man in the same jacket. _Toto, I don’t think we’re in Jersey anymore._

“My room is right across the hall,” Harry informed me, pointing behind him. 

I cleared my throat and leaned in closer to him. “Um…Harry, who is that man?”

He grinned down at me and ruffled my hair like I was a toddler. “Oh, Roxy. You’ve so much to learn.” He didn’t explain any further. “If you need anything in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to ask. Although…if you came into my room at two in the morning afraid of the monsters under your bed, that would be weird.” He paused before adding, “And kind of sexy.”

Laughing, I rolled my eyes and hugged him. It felt good to press my body against his, and to feel his physical support as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Of course. See you in the morning.”

I gave him a small nod before opening the door to the blue room. The walls were painted a midnight blue color, with gold molding. There was a television, a fluffy white couch, and a king sized four-post bed with a canopy. Laid out on the bed was a pale blue silk night gown and a fluffy white bathrobe. My jaw dropped as I ventured into the bathroom to find any beauty product I could ever want or hope for. “Holy. Crap,” I whispered to myself. 

Feeling like I was in a dream, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into the nightgown. Just for kicks, I put the bathrobe on and practically moaned from how soft and fluffy it was. I took it back off, slung it over the back of an overstuffed armchair, and crawled into bed. “ _Oh_ yeah,” I let out. “This is the good stuff.” The mattress was perfectly equal parts firm and soft, the pillows felt like clouds, the sheets were silk. I was asleep in five seconds.

***

When I woke up the next morning, I had to blink and remember where I was. It only took a second to realize that I was at Kensington Palace, sleeping on the most comfortable mattress ever made, wrapped in intricately stitched sheets. Letting out a happy moan, I burrowed deeper into the bed. I took a second to think about the reality of the situation. I was in Kensington Palace, across from Prince Harry’s bedroom, who had invited me over last night for a Bond marathon with his brother and Kate Middleton. I couldn’t help giggling and letting out a squeal.

The phone rang just then and I jumped, hoping no one had heard me giggling like an idiot to myself. “Um…hello?” I tentatively asked into the receiver.

“Why do you sound so scared?” Harry asked, and I could tell he was smirking.

With more giggling, I answered, “I don’t know. It’s not my phone.”

“No, it’s not is it? It’s mine. You’d better remember that,” Harry threatened jokingly. “Come down to breakfast, Kate’s made French toast. She puts crème fraiche on top, it’s delicious.”

“All right,” I shrugged.  
“I had your clothes packed in a bag. New ones should be on the back of your door. And don’t worry, I didn’t pick them out.”

“Oh…um…thank you,” I said, staring at the back of my door where, sure enough, there were clothing bags from Top Shop and Whistles hanging.

“See you in a bit,” Harry said, hanging up.

Still staring at the clothes in wonder, I hung up and got out of bed. Somehow, Harry had gotten a variety of different jeans and t-shirts in my size, as well as underwear, a bra, and socks. I hadn’t even told him any of those details. “Wow,” I blew out a breath. How had this even happened? I couldn’t wonder about it too long because it wasn’t going to get me anywhere, and because I’d told Harry I’d meet him for breakfast. I decided on a pair of grey corduroys and a loose black and white striped razorback tank before heading into the bathroom. Again, I reveled at the beauty products in the bathroom, picking up a pot of anti-aging cream that I knew ran upwards of 200 pounds. Before I brushed my teeth and washed my face, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and shook my head.

It wasn’t until I’d left my room and was in the hall that I realized that I had no idea where the kitchen was, or at least not how to get there from my room. I looked down the hall in one direction, and then the other. They both seemed impossibly long. Luckily, the man in the red jacket was still standing guard outside of Harry’s room. “Um…could you tell me how to get to the kitchen?” I asked him, blushing and certain that I looked like I had no idea what I was doing...because I didn't.

“Of course, miss,” he said with a bow I'd done absolutely nothing to deserve. “Just go down this hallway and take the staircase to your right. It should lead you downstairs to the entrance. Just make a left and you’ll find the kitchen.”

If we were in my house, the answer to that question would have been, “Walk straight.” Feeling totally out of my depth, I thanked him before I following his directions, nervous that I’d take a wrong turn and end up in some forbidden wing like in _Beauty and the Beast_. After travelling though what felt like a labyrinth, I finally got downstairs and heard laughing coming from the kitchen. When I got there, Kate was throwing blueberries into William’s mouth. Harry was heckling her from the island table over a cup of tea. “This has to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen,” I admitted.

“Only strange because Kate is so bad at it,” William jokingly pointed out. “I’m much better. Watch this.” Kate handed him the blueberries and he plucked one out of the box, aimed, and flicked it right into her mouth. He raised his fists in celebration. “I am the master!”

I laughed and took the stool next to Harry. “Oh yeah, I’m really impressed,” I sarcastically told him.

Placing his hands on the other side of the island and leaning against it, William gave me a scrutinizing look. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were making fun of me, Roxanna.”

“She shouldn’t be,” Harry chuckled, patting me on the back. “Roxy can’t aim worth a damn.”

“Harry!” I scolded him. “Don’t tell them that!” Then, in a faux-whisper, I added, “Don’t embarrass me in front of Will and Kate!”

They laughed and Kate took a plate out of a cabinet. “Do you like French toast, Roxy?”

“I like toast of all nationalities,” I assured her.

William looked impressed. “A ballerina who eats? I’ve never heard of that.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one,” I told him.

The four of us were eating breakfast and Kate and William politely asked me about school until Kate checked her watch. “Oh, Willie, we have to go or we’ll be late.”

“Right,” William agreed. They got up, put their dishes in the dishwasher, and got their coats. I noticed that the whole time they were touching each other – William’s hand on the small of Kate’s back, Kate lovingly entwining her fingers through William’s, and they were giggling. I figured they were probably giddy from their impending nuptials, and their attitude was contagious. I turned to Harry, beaming, but he rolled his eyes. 

“Off to a florist meeting,” Kate revealed.

“Ooh, that’s exciting,” I clapped my hands together.

“Is it? Do you want to go in my place, Roxanna?” William offered. 

Kate playfully slapped him on the shoulder and I laughed. “It was lovely to finally meet you, Roxy. We’ll see you again soon?” she asked.

“Um…yeah,” I nodded, blushing from the implications of this statement. “Yeah.”

Once they were gone, Harry reached onto my place and stole a strawberry. “So you like the French toast?”

“It’s delicious,” I answered honestly, my mouth still full. It was fluffy and crunchy and sweet and creamy and yummy.

“I told you. I’ve no idea how she stays so thin,” Harry shook his head in wonder. When I finally pushed my plate away from me, stuffed, Harry took it and placed it in the dishwasher. He’d tried putting it in the sink, but I’d insisted that Kate Middleton (or realistically, one of the people who worked there) was _not_ responsible for my dirty dishes. When he turned back to face me, he was grinning. “Do you want the tour?”

“Oh, I want the tour,” I assured him. As we walked down a long hallway on the way to someplace Harry called “the courtyard,” I turned to him. “So…I’m confused.”

“About?” Harry asked slowly, seeming amused.

“I thought you lived at Clarence House.”

He nodded. “Ah. William and I lived at Clarence House and Highgrove with my dad after Mum passed away, and I lived there off and on while I was on gap year from Sandhurst and Will was at St. Andrews. But then he moved back to London so we decided to move into an apartment at KP together.”

“KP?” I smirked.

Harry smiled bashfully. “That’s what Mum used to call it.”

Again, I got that twisting, awkward feeling in my stomach. I decided to change the subject. “So how does it work? You can just live wherever you want?” I asked.

Harry glanced at me sideways. “This is strange.”

“What is?”

“Having to explain this to someone.” At my deflated (and humiliated) expression, Harry reassured me. “Not because of you. Of course, you wouldn’t know about this. You fought a war so you wouldn’t have to.”

Shrugging, I mumbled, “Well not me personally.”

Harry chuckled. “No, it’s just that I can’t figure out a way to explain this to you without sounding like a total prat.”

“Well, the good news is that I don’t know what a prat is, so you’re clear there,” I nudged Harry’s arm.

He smiled and reached forward, opening a door at the end of the hallway. It led out to a huge and beautifully maintained yard. There were swaying apple trees, blooming with bright leaves and blossoms. The grass was a rich, dark green. There were paths of stones, blooming rose bushes, and a gurgling marble fountain. “Damn,” I let out slowly, like I had in the bathroom last night.

“This is where our parents brought us for press visits when we were little,” Harry told me, and I remembered seeing video footage of a tiny, young William leading a tinier, younger Harry on the back of a pony around the courtyard.

“Was it strange?” I asked him.

Harry nodded. “Very. I always had to ask William who they were and why they wanted our picture. He told me it was because he was king and I was the king’s brother, but I thought it was just a game we were playing.”

I laughed at this adorable image. “Aw! Poor confused Harry!”

He smiled the bashful smile again and shut the door. We wandered the broad, twisting, elegant hallways of the apartment at KP as Harry explained to me the vast royal estates. He could apparently seek residence at any of them, although he was normally at KP or Clarence House, and occasionally Windsor Castle. He very rarely joined his Gran and Grandad at Buckingham, and Balmoral and Sandringham were only used on holidays. His dad, too, had his own estate, but it wasn’t in London. Apparently Prince Charles had purchased Highgrove when he was going through the divorce. Harry called it his “mid-life crisis house.” In between explanations, he showed me a drawing room, sitting room, and library.

“What’s the difference between a drawing room and a sitting room?” I asked.

Shrugging, Harry predictably guessed, “You draw in one and sit in the other?”

“Doubt it,” I shook my head.

We went upstairs and Harry led me into a room with a hardwood floor that was mostly empty. To the left were a few pieces of furniture around a fireplace. The walls were actually all stuffed bookshelves. The room was flooded with sunlight by impossibly tall windows. Actually, maybe I was in some weird version of _Beauty and the Beast_. In the right corner of the room was a white grand piano, and next to it was a small table with a record player on it. Around that corner the bookshelves actually held records, CDs, even a few cassette tapes – relics from the 80s. “Wow. The Windsor record collection. Let’s check it out.”

“I think you’ll be mightily impressed,” Harry promised.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I challenged him over my shoulder as I went to the bookshelf full of vinyl. He was right, the collection was impressive. First edition copies of the Beatles, a wide array of different classical recordings, anthologies of different show tunes. “Oh, _two_ copies of Thriller,” I noticed with a laugh.

“I think both of my parents had one. Or Dad just _really_ loves MJ,” Harry guessed.

“Ooh, my mom has a copy of this,” I ogled, reaching for an Elton John album.

“That was definitely Mum’s,” Harry confirmed.

When I looked down at the record, I noticed that Sharpie was scribbled in one corner. _To Diana, England’s loveliest rose. Xoxo, Elton._ I bit down on my bottom lip, hoping that Harry wouldn’t see me shiver, or the goose bumps on my arms. How could he live here, with her haunting every corner? Maybe he liked it – the reminders of her, but to me they were a shocking surprise, a bright red light popping up in front of my eyes just when I thought everything was normal about this situation. I could practically hear her voice reminding me, _No, it’s not, actually_. 

Slowly, Harry approached me and plucked the album out of my hands. He gingerly shook the record out of its sleeve and placed it on the turntable before lifting the needle up and dropping it on a groove. I smiled at him as the familiar opening to _Tiny Dancer_ came on. “This is my favorite song.”

“I figured as much,” he nodded. Then, he held his hands out, like an old-fashioned request for a dance. Giggling, I dipped into a deep curtsy, while Harry bowed low. I slipped my left hand into his, placing my right one on his shoulder. He placed his on my hip. “Doesn’t it bother you to think that all of these songs were written about a poof, though?”

“Harry!” I scolded him. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“I’m just saying, it’s something to think about,” Harry innocently defended himself.

I rolled my eyes. “Here, hold one hand here,” I instructed, holding one hand above our heads. “And the other one here,” I placed the other near my hip. “Now hold on just kind of loose. Let me hold onto your index finger.”

“Oh God, what am I supposed to do?” Harry asked, obviously doubting his ability to be my pas-de-duex partner.

“Just stand there. That’s all, I promise,” I reassured him before taking a stance in third position. I counted off while _Tiny Dancer_ still played in the background before pirouetting in front of Harry.

He blinked, looking shocked. “Wait a minute. Do that again.” When I did another pirouette, he shook his head. “How’d you do that?”

I laughed. “It’s not hard. Watch.” I let go of him and prepped before doing a triple, then stuck my leg out to the side to gain more momentum. I could do this for days. It was fun to spin around over and over and over again, staying in the same spot, never getting dizzy. 

_And oh how it feels so real,_  
lyin’ here,  
with no one near –  
only you.   
And you can hear me,  
when I say softly,  
slowly… 

Before I knew what was going on, I was knocked off my balance. Harry pressed one hand behind my head, the other on the small of my back. He pulled me to him and I couldn’t stop him before we were kissing. And once we were, I didn’t want to.


	8. I Never Knew Me A Better Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Hold me closer tiny dancer._  
Count the headlights on the highway.   
Lay me down in sheets of linen.   
You had a busy day today. 

I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but I didn’t expect this. It wasn’t a cocky, confident kiss like the way a prince kisses in a Disney movie, and even though I’d known Harry for almost a month, and we’d spent time together, I was still shocked by how vulnerable he seemed. The kiss was tender, and soft, and his mouth was warm and delicious. One hand gripped my hair, holding it in a fist and then gently letting his fingers get tangled in it. The other hand pressed my body to his. It was less Cinderella and Prince Charming, and more Scarlett and Rhett. 

When we pulled away, I blinked and shook my head, trying to process what had just happened. “Harry.”

From my tone of voice, he could tell that was a bad sign. “Shit,” he muttered, taking a step back from me.

“No, Harry,” I tried to calm him. It hurt me to see him criticize himself, which I was surprised to find out about myself. The only other person I'd ever hurt with my words or tone was Grace, and I never felt guilty about that because she'd inevitably done something to deserve it.

“Just forget it. Pretend it never happened.”

“No, Harry,” I repeated, stepping closer to him. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. I’d never seen him look so distressed. “I’m glad you did it,” I said, lightly placing my hand on his forearm.  
Harry blanched. “You…you are?”

“Yeah,” I smiled and nodded at him. I hadn’t known that was true until I said it.

Harry’s eyes searched mine and he asked, “But…?”

I bit down on my bottom lip, wondering how to put it. I still didn’t want to tell him about Madam’s attitude towards our friendship. If I did that, I knew Harry would just blame himself, and maybe go away, and I didn’t want that. That was my problem that I needed to sort out with Madam. It wasn’t fair to put it on Harry. But I was going to have to come up with something. “It’s just that with _Cinderella_ and school, I’ll be really busy for the foreseeable future. And then in November I’ll be doing _The Nutcracker _, so I’ll be even busier. So…”__

__“What exactly are you suggesting?” Harry asked, bemused._ _

__Looking around us, I suddenly got inspired. “Do you think…we could shelve this conversation until after the holidays?”_ _

__Harry took a deep breath, rubbed his forehead again, and then grinned slowly. “So you’re not letting me down easy?”_ _

__I shook my head. “I’m not letting you down at all.”_ _

__Flashing me a broad smile, Harry opened his arms to me. “Hug it out?” he quoted _Entourage_. Giggling, I agreed and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I realized then how much I really did care about him. I didn’t know what we were going to do after Christmas, or even really what all my feelings meant, but I was happy to know him, happy that he was in my life as a friend for now._ _

__By the time we pulled away, the record had changed songs to “Crocodile Rock.” Wiggling his eyebrows in a cheesy way, Harry said, “Oh, now this is my kind of song. Check out these moves.” I laughed and watched him do “the sprinkler.”_ _

__***_ _

__“I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will!” Harry and I sang in the kitchen as we poured wine for the two of us and William and Kate. They’d come home from wedding planning and Kate had asked if I wanted to stay for dinner. I said I should be going but she told me that the three of them always had Sunday dinners together. So I’d stayed, chopping garlic and tomatoes, boiling water for pasta, drinking red wine and getting to know my friend’s older brother and his fiance. So one day my friend’s older brother would be king, who cared? A lot of people. I just wasn’t one of them…or I was trying very hard not to be. At least I’d gotten around to calling Kate by her first name._ _

__“So, how are the wedding plans going?” I asked as we sat down to dinner._ _

__Giving William a sideways glance, Kate told me, “I think that depends on who you ask.”_ _

__William held his hands up in self-defense. “All I said was that it was _just_ flowers.”_ _

__I gasped in horror and Kate pounced. “ _Thank_ you, Roxy. I need another girl here. I’m always surrounded by these boys who just simply don’t understand.”_ _

__Giggling, I offered, “Well you have a sister, don’t you?”_ _

__“Yes, and she would be equally as horrified as we were to hear what you just said,” she told William._ _

__“Well I promise to never say anything of the sort ever again,” he vowed._ _

__Harry shook his head. “What is it about women and weddings? I just don’t get it.”_ _

__Kate and I turned on him then. William let out a sigh of relief that the heat was off him as I started interrogating Harry. “What don’t you get? The part where it’s the most important day of your life? Or the part where someone is vowing to love you forever? Or the part where you get to wear a beautiful dress?”_ _

__Leaning closer, Harry admitted, “I mean, I _kind_ of see why it’s such a big deal for you,” he gestured to Kate. “But regular women everywhere go absolutely _mad_ over weddings. Who says it’s the most important day of your life? The most important day of my life, I hope, will be the day I opened Sentebale, or the day my child is born, or Mum’s funeral. Aren’t all of those things more important than a wedding?”_ _

__In unison, Kate and I paused fora beat before chorusing, “No.” The four of us burst into laughter._ _

__“But that was a very impassioned speech, Harry, good effort,” William applauded._ _

__We chatted while we are and after a while Kate got up to clear away our plates. I offered to help and took mine and Harry’s plates into the kitchen. “Thanks,” Kate smiled kindly at me._ _

__“No problem,” I assured her. “Unlike them, I have a single mom and no maids, so I’m used to doing my own chores.”_ _

__She gave me another kind smile while I scraped plates into the garbage. She’d turned on the water and started rinsing the plates when she turned to me and delicately asked, “Roxy…do you mind if I ask you something?”_ _

__I was immediately afraid. “Um, sure. I guess.”_ _

__“Are you Harry’s girlfriend?” The way she blurted it out told me she’d been holding it in all day, maybe even since last night._ _

__I blushed and forced out a laugh. “No,” I assured her. “No, we’re just friends.” Then, thinking that Kate may be a good asset in this situation, I lowered my voice and leaned in closer. “But we kissed today.”_ _

__Kate immediately shut the water off. “You _kissed_ today?” she hissed, her eyes wide. When I nodded, she pressed for more information. “Well? _And?”__ _

___“The thing is, I really like Harry. And I know it’s unfair to ask him to wait until I’m ready, but I’m really busy at school right now.”_ _ _

___“Well that can’t be helped,” Kate acknowledged understandingly._ _ _

___“But there’s something else…” I wasn’t sure if I could trust Kate not to say anything to Harry. I _had_ only known her for a few hours…_ _ _

___Like she knew exactly what I was thinking, Kate placed a hand on my shoulder. “Is it something serious? I can keep a secret. You’ve got another boyfriend back in America, haven’t you?”_ _ _

___“What?” I asked, shocked that she would assume that. “No, that’s definitely not it. It’s just…well, my instructors aren’t crazy about me spending so much time with Harry. I think Madam thinks I’m just going to forget about dancing and try to catch me a husband.”_ _ _

___Kate tilted her head to one side. “I do know a thing or two about people saying you went to school for your M.R.S.”_ _ _

___“But she’s sort of right, isn’t she? I mean, you and William had your own little area in college. But if I _did_ start to date Harry, that’s like a full time job, isn’t it?”_ _ _

___She looked at me like I was crazy. “What? No. It’s not easy, but it’s not a job. It’s sort of like…you two conduct yourselves like everything’s normal, and the only people who act like it’s a big deal are people you don’t even see or know. If you want to date Harry, just do it. Don’t worry about what anyone else says. I mean, he clearly likes you. I’ve never known Harry to miss a Saturday night out, but for the past two weeks he’s been home, asking Willie and I for advice about you.”_ _ _

___I chewed on the bottom of my lip. “So you don’t think I’m being super selfish to ask him to wait until after the holidays?”_ _ _

___Kate waved a hand. “No way. You and Harry have barely known each other a month. I’d be more suspicious if you _didn’t_ wait.” I pushed out a smile at her and went back to washing the dishes. “I have to say, Roxy, I really admire you for this.”_ _ _

___“For…for what?” I stammered._ _ _

___“For how you’re handling this!” she praised. “You’re not jumping at your chance to be with a prince. You’re not playing hard to get. Believe me, pretending to be something you’re not will get you absolutely nowhere with these people.” When I laughed, she added, “They can _smell_ fake from light years away.”_ _ _

___“I’m sure they have tons of practice. Fortunately for them I don’t have any practice _not_ being myself. Every time I try, it just never works out. Most of the time I’m trying to be you,” I confessed._ _ _

___Kate let out a charming, airy laugh. “Darling, most of the time _I’m_ trying to be me, instead of some self-important bitch with an inflated ego. My parents came from nothing. They met when my mum was an air hostess and my dad was a pilot. Not exactly royalty.”_ _ _

___I hadn’t known any of that. I was about to blurt out, “Wow,” when the boys came in to join us. “What’s going on? Telling girl secrets?” Harry asked._ _ _

___“Yup. We were about to paint our nails and braid each other’s hair,” I sarcastically replied. William started helping Kate dry the dishes, and I noticed that they flirted even doing this mundane activity. I sighed, feeling my stomach get heavy, like the day before school started after summer break. “I should get back to the dorm.”_ _ _

___“Must you?” Harry asked regretfully. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I suppose if you _have_ to go, I can get you a car.”_ _ _

___“Okay. Thanks.” I expected Harry to reach into his pocket for his cell phone, or to use the house phone in another room, but instead, he leaned forward, closer to me. My breath caught in my throat. Oh my God, was he going to kiss me again? And should I stop him? Did I want to? God, he was tall…_ _ _

___Before I had to make up my mind, Harry lifted the phone off the hook behind me. I let out a sigh of…I wasn’t sure what. “This is Harry. Yes, I need a car for Miss DeLaSearle. Yes. Thank you.” He leaned closer again to hang the phone back up, grinning._ _ _

___“Thank you,” I mumbled._ _ _

___Harry took my hand. “Come on, let’s get your things.” As we walked back to the room where I’d spent the night, Harry picked up on my forlornness. “What?” he finally asked._ _ _

___I shrugged. “I just feel the way you feel when summer vacation ends.” At Harry’s confused look, I tried to further explain. “It’s just been a good weekend. I’m not looking forward to going back to school, dealing with Madam, stressing about _The Nutcracker_.”_ _ _

___“I thought you liked _The Nutcracker_ ,” Harry pointed out as he opened the door to my room. My clothes had been washed, folded, and placed into a small Vera Bradley bag which I hadn’t had when I’d arrived._ _ _

___“I do,” I insisted. With a defeated shrug, I continued, “I think it’s kind of a good thing. I wish I could hang out all day here, with you and B or your brother and Kate. Remember how I told you that I felt at home in London?” Harry nodded. “It’s nice to feel like I have people.”_ _ _

___“People?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, amused._ _ _

___I smirked. “Yeah. People. Like, if something bad happens, I know I have people, and a place, that I can turn to.”_ _ _

___Harry gave me a hug around the neck, chuckling softly. “You’re like a lost little lamb! Don’t worry now, I’ve found you.”_ _ _

___Rolling my eyes, I pushed him away. “I’m not an _orphan_ ,” I snapped. Then, picking up my bag, I sniffed haughtily. “I must go now, I’m very big and important.” I said good-bye to William and Kate, who said it was “lovely” to meet me, and Harry led me to the front door where the car had come. “I’ll call you later,” I told him._ _ _

___“You and B should come over next weekend. It’s an Arsenal verses Aston Villa game. Will and I will be at odds,” he warned._ _ _

___I gave him a skeptical look. “You think Bianca’s ready for Kate?”_ _ _

___Harry stared at me flatly. “If you can do it, anyone can.” With that, I glared at him and shut the door._ _ _

___***_ _ _

___“Oh, no,” Bianca said as soon as I shut the door behind me. “I know that grin. That is not an, ‘I told Harry I can’t see him anymore after the Bond marathon’ grin. That’s an, ‘I just fucked a prince,’ grin.”_ _ _

___“Bianca!” I scolded her. “I did not!” When she looked unconvinced, I told her what had happened, including the kiss, and my explanation. “ _And_ , the best part is that he invited us over next Sunday to watch the Arsenal/Aston Villa game!” I was hoping she’d be excited about this news and wouldn’t come down too hard on me bout the other stuff._ _ _

___I was wrong. “Roxy, you are dangerously deviating from the plan.”_ _ _

___I rolled my eyes. “You know B, one second you’re all, ‘Don’t worry about Madam, just have fun,’ and the next second you’re telling me that I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. What do you want from me?”_ _ _

___She glared at me and tossed the _Vogue_ she'd been reading aside. “I want to be your friend, Roxy, and I _don’t_ care about what Madam thinks. I care about what _you think. And what I _don’t_ want you to think six months from now is, ‘I’m broken-hearted and completely devastated and why didn’t anyone warn me?’” Bianca waited a few seconds after she got this off her chest. I sort of saw where she was coming from and I didn’t want to argue any more, so I flopped down on my bed. “So…what _do_ you think?”__ _ _

____I struggled to find a way to explain how I felt about Harry, but even though we’d only been living together for a few months, Bianca proved that we were just as close as I felt we were by understanding. “I just feel like I was so caught up in all of it, like, ‘Oh my God, he’s Prince Harry!’ and then I was focused on the show and I just didn’t have time to really think about what I wanted.”_ _ _ _

____Bianca’s eyebrows rose. “Do you know what you want?”_ _ _ _

____Shrugging, I answered, “Kind of. He’s nice, and he’s funny, and I can talk to him about stuff, and when I’m with him I just feel so…” I searched for the right word. “I feel so _cherished_.” Admitting that made my face heat up. It sounded silly to say out loud._ _ _ _

____“Woah,” Bianca blurted out, looking impressed. “Well, if he ‘cherishes’ you, I’ll get on board.”_ _ _ _

____“Thanks,” I smiled gratefully at her._ _ _ _

____Bianca smiled back and then frowned. “Is that a new Vera Bradley bag?”_ _ _ _

____“Yup,” I nodded. “So do you want to meet Will and Kate next weekend?”_ _ _ _

____She raised an eyebrow. “Do _I_ get a new Very Bradley bag?”_ _ _ _

____Laughing, I shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s a chance.”_ _ _ _

____“Then sign me up. And _don’t_ tell Kate you’ve been wearing my clothes all over London. Not after that _Mail_ article.”_ _ _ _

____“Kate says not to read the tabs,” I said with a phony superior air._ _ _ _

____Bianca giggled before agreeing, “Well, she would know.” I grabbed my shower caddy and told Bianca I was going to shower. She called after me, “Enjoy your bath, Your Royal Highness.”_ _ _ _


	9. A Date in Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

We only had one more week of _Cinderella_ , and on Monday morning Madam told us all that we’d be flowers and snowflakes in the corps of _The Nutcracker_. I wasn’t surprised – it was standard issue holiday season dance requirement. It did dawn on me, however, that telling Harry how busy I’d be had been no exaggeration. We had one week off of performances between _Cinderella_ and _The Nutcracker_ , which I looked forward to like a vacation. Bianca and I laughed at how pathetic this was, and as much as I was dreading being so busy, I loved the holiday season. It came on even quicker here because the Brits had nothing to look forward to in November, whereas Americans had Thanksgiving.

“That’s when you celebrate the slaughter of innocent natives?” Bianca asked pointedly as we got ready to go over to Harry’s for the game. She looked beautiful in a powder blue sweater, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail with a maroon bow.

I rolled my eyes at her and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had decided to pull for Arsenal at Harry’s suggestion, and so I’d dressed in a red cable-knit sweater and tied my hair off my forehead with a wide red ribbon. The color looked assaulting against my raven hair. “Like Britain never killed innocent people,” I muttered.

Bianca picked up on my snark. “You look great, Roxy. Like a sexy Snow White.”

The intercom buzzer sounded and the receptionist told us that a car was here for us. I said we’d be right down and Bianca and I grabbed our purses. Once we were in the back seat of the town car, Bianca sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “I can’t wait to have a good, solid night’s sleep this week.”

“I _know_ ,” I agreed. “I’m pretty sure my mom thinks I’m dead. I just haven’t had time to talk to her lately.”

“Oh, but you’ve had time to be all giggly on the phone with Harry every day,” Bianca gave me an annoying look.

“We haven’t talked _every_ day,” I corrected her. That was kind of a lie. We hadn’t talked on the phone via an actual _call_ every day, but we’d kept up some pretty lengthy text conversations back and forth. I didn't think that was strange for friends to do. Bianca and I texted all the time, even if we were sitting right next to each other in class.

Bianca shook her head. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s weird. It’s like you’re in relationship limbo.”

“How am I in relationship limbo?” I asked, my tone implying exactly how ridiculous I thought this statement was.

While Bianca explained that Harry and I were in some odd relationship purgatory, the driver passed through the wide front gates of KP. Bianca didn’t seem taken aback by any of this. I assumed it was because, as an insanely wealthy person herself, this was nothing new. The car crunched over the gravel before arriving in front of Harry and William’s apartment. I noticed that there were a few more ridiculously expensive cars parked outside. For some reason, this made me nervous. I tried to remind myself not to overreact. Harry's friends were just humans, and I liked Guy and Piers. This was just such a greater amount of people…

“Don’t slouch,” Bianca hissed when we rang the front doorbell.

I was swatting her hands away when the door swung open. Guy was on the other side, holding a Foster’s can, wearing khako shorts and an Arsenal jersey. Sometimes I thought that Harry was just like a super rich frat boy, and Guy was definitely looking the part. “Roxy! Bianca! Lovely to see you!” From inside the apartment there was the loud noise of a party. No music or anything, but people were talking, laughing, having a good time. The game was on in the background. “Come in, come in!” Guy ushered us into the house.

“Are you the host, Guy?” Bianca asked as he led us past the regal front entryway. In the room where we’d had Bond Fest, William and several other young men were intensely watching the game. In front of them was a coffee table littered with empty beer cans and various kinds of chips and dips. It looked like a party some kids from my town would have thrown for the Superbowl. The room was also full of other people, mostly men, in either light blue Aston Villa jerseys, or red Arsenal ones like Guy. I noticed Piers in a small group in one corner of the room, socializing. There were other women there, too, but they were a small minority, and none of them seemed interested in the game.

“I am, B. Welcome to my humble abode,” he welcomed us. “Let’s get you two some drinks.” We followed him into the kitchen, which was full of more people. Where was Kate? I thought, desperate for a familiar face. Where was Harry?

The island table was holding more snacks, chips and dip, a fruit tray. Guy bent over into a cooler full of beer and handed Bianca one. I was about to decline when a gap formed in the crowd and I discovered Harry…talking to a girl. No, flirting with a girl. It was too loud to hear what they were saying, but any girl could decipher the obvious body language. Harry’s head was bent low and the girl was giggling and touching Harry’s arm. The worst part was that she was gorgeous. She was a tall, lean blonde with a tan (who had a tan in October?) and she was way too over-dressed to watch soccer. She was wearing a white slip dress that was made of approximately two inches of fabric, and cowboy boots. She should have looked ridiculous, but she didn’t. That made it worse.

I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen it, but I was too late. Bianca had also noticed, and looked at me carefully as I popped the top of my chilled Foster’s can. “Cheers!” Guy toasted, clanking our cans together. He left the room to watch the game and I turned to Bianca. She was about to ask me something when Kate joined us.

“Hello there,” she welcomed me with a kiss on both cheeks. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“We just got here,” I told her. “Kate, this is my roommate, Bianca. She dresses me most of the time.”

Kate shook hands with B. “And you went to school with Bea and Eugenie, right?” she asked.

“I did,” Bianca nodded. 

“Well if you dressed Roxy today you did a lovely job,” Kate smiled at us.

Bianca looked around to make sure no one was listening and then gestured for the three of us to come closer. “Kate,” she whispered once we were all huddled together, “Why is Florence Brudenell-Bruce here?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I don’t know. The tabs started reporting that she and Harry were dating and I guess she’s trying to make that the truth.”

B winced. “It looks like she’s doing a pretty good job.”

Realizing that these weren’t confidence-inspiring words, Kate placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Harry’s not interested in her.”

“He looks pretty interested,” I muttered.

“Well, let’s get him _un_ interested,” Kate suggested, before calling out, “Oi, Harry! Harry!” When he looked over, she pointed to me and Bianca. Embarrassed, I looked away.

Harry joined us and greeted us with cheek kisses. “Hello there, I didn’t notice you come in.”

Maybe it was because I’d downed that can of Foster’s (which was disgusting - why would they drink the cheap stuff when they could most definitely afford the better brands? I assumed it was in keeping the spirit of a sporting event), but I was feeling pretty pissed off, and wanted to be vocal about it. “No, you seemed pretty busy.”

Kate and Bianca awkwardly made an excuse to leave the two of us. Harry reached his hand out, rubbing my shoulder. “Come on now, don’t be angry.”

I glared at him. “I shouldn’t be angry because you invited me to a party so I could watch you flirt with another girl?”

Harry looked confused. “Flirt? With Flee? Roxanna, that’s just mad.”

The fact that he called her a nickname made me even angrier. “So now I’m crazy?”

“ _No_ , I didn’t say you were crazy. I said me flirting with her was crazy.”

“Well that’s what it looked like to me.”

“Then look again, because if you look right now, you’ll see me having a completely ridiculous conversation with you, who are _not_ my girlfriend, about flirting with other girls.”

“Just because I’m not your girlfriend doesn’t mean I want to watch you flirt with Annie Get Your Gun over there!” I hissed. I knew I was getting dangerously close to getting shouting-mad. “And don’t pretend I have no right to be mad, because we both know I do. We’re not, not dating. We’re just…in relationship limbo.”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry smirked, amused. “Relationship limbo?”

“Uh, _chyeah_ , duh,” I said, like it should have been obvious. “We’re like, in between dating and not dating.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Right. Well then I’m _very_ sorry for giving off the appearance of flirting with Florence. Will you be in relationship limbo with me again?” Ever the charmer, Harry took my hand and kissed it, like he had the first night we'd met in the club.

Blushing, I took my hand back. “Fine. I forgive you.”

Chuckling, Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Good. Because you look lovely. Let’s go watch the game.” The rest of the party was pretty fun. Harry and I even started the wave.

***

Predictably, the game ended in a victory for Aston Villa, but no one seemed much put out by this. The party went on, but since it was a Sunday most people were gone early. At one point I suggested that Bianca and I should go, but Harry told me not to be silly. By the end of the night it was just the five of us sitting around the coffee table, talking, laughing, and drinking shitty, cheap beer. If we had been back in Jersey, it could have been a scene from a Bruce Springsteen song.

“So, a week of no rehearsals or performances. That must be a nice break,” Kate noted. 

“Yeah, but then we’ve got to start _The Nutcracker_ , which is dreadful,” Bianca said with an exaggerated eye roll.

“But Roxy loves _The Nutcracker_!” Harry pointed out.

“I know! She’s literally the only one.” Bianca went on to explain to them about how most dancers hated performing _The Nutcracker_ every Christmas because it was gimmicky and repetitive. “Roxanna is a total anomaly.”

“I just love the pink tutu that the Sugarplum Fairy gets to wear!” I admitted. “Besides, you probably hate it more because you guys get a longer run time of it. At home it doesn’t start until after Thanksgiving.”

The others nodded and agreed, and Kate seemed to remember something and turned to Will. “Have you asked Clarence House if they found my poppy?”

“They haven’t said anything. Can’t you just buy another one? Didn’t it cost you like, twenty quid?” William asked.

Kate looked frustrated. “That’s not the point. I _know_ I left it somewhere at Clarence House and now its just going to bother me until I find it.”

“A poppy?” I asked. The three royals gaped at me.

Bianca placed a hand on my shoulder and knowingly told them, “I know, she’s like an infant.”

Harry nudged me. “It’s for Remembrance Day.” My first thought was that it was something to do with 9/11, but that didn’t make sense, as it was about to be November. When I failed to look less confused, Harry pushed further. “Armistice Day? November 11th?”

I finally nodded. “Oh. Right. We call that Veteran’s Day back home.”

“It’s Remembrance Day here,” William patiently explained. “The poppies symbolize remembrance, so we wear poppies pinned to our clothes. Catherine seems to have misplaced hers. It was…sparkly or something.”

“It was _rhinestones_ , and it was perfect,” she corrected him.

“I want a poppy!” I chimed in.

“Well I’ll pick one up for you, since I have to get a new one, apparently,” Kate said, obviously disgruntled.

Bianca checked her watch. “Roxy, I’m going to the loo, and then we should get back so we can have eight whole blissful hours of sleep.”

“That sounds amazing,” I agreed as she left to go to the bathroom.

“Come, I’ll call you a car,” Harry offered, standing. I took his hand, said I’d see Will and Kate alter, and went to the front hall with Harry. “So, what are you going to do with all your time off?”

I laughed. “Its hardly time off. It’s sort of pathetic that we’re so excited about it.” Harry chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. A thought occurred to me, and I asked, “Do you want to come over?”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been here twice and that’s not fair. So why don’t you come over to my place sometime? See how the other half lives.”

Looking uncomfortable, Harry asked, “Well…could we be alone there?” When I raised an eyebrow, he corrected himself. “No, not like that! It could just get awkward with the cast of Swan Lake looking at us like we’re in a zoo.”

I shook my head. “Believe me, that will not be a problem.” After the way Madam was treating me, I would have been shocked if the other girls wanted to subject themselves to that.

He grinned. “Well all right then. It’s a date. A date in limbo.”

“It won’t be bad,” I shrugged. “It won’t be that good, but it won’t be bad.” But on the ride home, the more I thought about it, the more I actually really liked limbo.

***

When I told Bianca that I had invited Harry over, she was _not_ shy about telling me that she thought it was a spectacularly bad idea. “He’s right, you know. The entire Royal Ballet Academy will be waiting to catch a glimpse of him.”

“Well then they’ll just have to wait in the hall.”

“Madam is going to freak out.”

“Madam has no authority over who visits me.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to go hang out at his place? It’s _literally_ a palace for God’s sake.”

“I just want to do something normal, which means something _not_ in a palace.”

Bianca couldn’t argue there. So on Tuesday night, the receptionist told me I had a visitor and I buzzed Harry up to my room. He was looking handsome in faded jeans and a beige sweater. He looked comfortable, relaxed, which was exactly what I wanted. “So, here’s my plan.”

“Tell me your plan,” Harry welcomed, opening his arms wide, invitingly.

I shook a box of brownie mix at him. “We make brownies and then pig out watching movies.”

He laughed. “You go hard, DeLaSearle.”

“Oh, I can be _very_ extreme.” I told Bianca we’d be back with baked goods and the two of us made our way down to the student kitchen. I noticed that there was a guy following us, casually dressed. “Who’s that guy?”

Harry looked behind us. “Oh, that’s Paolo. He’s my protection officer.”

“How many of those do you have?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “But Paolo is more like a minder. He’s with me all the time, whether I’m here or at a charity event or what have you.”

“Sounds kind of romantic,” I snickered.

Harry sighed. “Yes, well, Paolo and I have committed to one another. It’s pretty serious.”

I smiled at him and we turned into the kitchen. I was glad to find it empty. Harry helped me mix the batter together with eggs, milk, canola oil, and water, and while we waited for the brownies to bake, I _incredibly_ graciously let him lick the spoon. “I know this must seem lame,” I told him. “But I just wanted to do something…”

“Not in a palace?” Harry finished for me.

“Exactly.”

He shrugged. “I don’t blame you. It can get a bit stuffy in there.”

From outside, I could make out the sound of giggling and shushing. When we looked out the doorway, we saw two girls peeking in. Harry waved to them and they blushed, scurrying away. I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. If that’s the worst that happens, it’s better than what I usually get,” he acknowledged.

“I think most people are probably afraid to come near us here.”

“Why?” Harry asked with a frown.

I dipped my finger in the bowl that had been full of batter and then sucked on it. “You have to promise not to get mad.” He slowly cocked his head to one side. “It's just…Madam has some very clear opinions about us hanging out together.”

Clearly confused, he asked, “What do you mean?”

When I explained about Madam’s lectures to Harry, he looked crestfallen. “See, this is what I meant,” I pointed out. “Harry, it’s not a big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” he argued. “You shouldn’t be ostracized from your friends for hanging out with me.”

“I hardly know those girls. Bianca’s my only real friend here, and she doesn’t care,” I reminded him.

“Well then you shouldn’t be reprimanded because of me,” Harry said, “at the very least.”

I shrugged. “Well, life isn’t always fair. The point is, we’re friends, and my options are either don’t be friends with you to keep Madam happy, or continue to be friends with you and keep dealing with this minor annoyance. I don't know if you've picked up on this yet, but I’ve _never_ been one to do something just to get someone else’s approval, and I’m not going to start now.”

Before Harry could argue any more, the timer for the brownies went off. I took them out of the oven and we went back up to the room, Paolo trailing us the whole way. “Right, I’ve narrowed it down to two chick flicks,” Bianca said decidedly. “The Kiera Knightly _Pride and Prejudice_ , or _Love Actually_.”

“Ooh! Love Actually!” I insisted, clapping.

Harry looked aghast. “ _Two_ Hugh Grant movies? But you _hate_ Hugh Grant.”

“Yeah, but it’s a Christmas movie. I _love_ Christmas movies, _and_ Colin Firth is in this one.”

“Colin Firth? _Really_?” Harry asked. Bianca and I nodded in unison. “All right," he shrugged, " _Love Actually_ it is then.” He lay down on my bed as Bianca put the DVD in. I cut us some brownies before putting one in a napkin and opening the door.

“Hey Paolo. Want a brownie?”

Paolo gave me a grateful smile. He was late thirties, early forties, and he was the kind of attractive that made him look like he should be partying in Lake Cuomo with George Clooney. “Thank you, Miss DeLaSearle.”

“Sure,” I smiled back at him.

“Cheating on me with Paolo, are you?” Harry asked when I closed the door.

I scoffed. “More like Paolo’s cheating on _you_ with _me_.”

Harry patted the bed next to him, which would have seemed suggestive if the bed wasn’t the size of a postage stamp, and if Bianca weren’t in the room. I crawled onto the bed and he wrapped one arm around me while I rested my head on his chest. “This isn’t lame,” he told me. I smiled and blushed, glad that he couldn’t see me.

Chapter Ten: Giving Thanks


	10. Giving Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

October turned to November. London got colder. Bianca and I started going out in long pea or trench coats, with billowing scarves, and wool hats. We turned the heat up in our room but sometimes it seemed like we couldn’t escape the cold, like it had settled permanently into our bones. The city prepared for Christmas, much like New York did. There was a huge tree in a skating park, Harrod’s put up festive wreaths in all the windows. I loved London even more during Christmastime, it turned out. 

Rehearsals for _The Nutcracker_ began, and the shortened days made the nights seem longer than they were. Sometimes Bianca and I returned to our room to find Paolo standing outside our door, with Harry inside, ready with a box of brownie mix and a movie. There were even nights when I’d come back from doing some extra practice and find he and Bianca engaged in an intense card game. Other times, Harry, Kate, Will, and I wrapped presents while watching Christmas movies and drank hot chocolate or eggnog in front of the fire at KP. I went to bed every night with a smile on my face, happier than I had ever been. Before this point, I hadn’t been alive, or happy, I had merely been existing. It seemed like I’d been waiting for the past eighteen years – waiting for this.

“I think I want to have Thanksgiving,” I told Bianca one day as we left history class to go to pas de deux workshop.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Come again?”

“All this learning about England has weirdly made me feel patriotic. I think I want to make Thanksgiving for you guys,” I explained.

She nodded slowly. “Which guys?”

Shrugging, I answered, “You know, you, Harry, William, Kate.”

“Roxanna,” she said solemnly, stopping in front of our door. “You’re proposing that you make a Thanksgiving Day feast for the future King of England. What if you accidentally poison him?”

Cocking my head to one side, I frowned. “How would that even happen?” I asked, unlocking the door to our room and opening it.

Bianca shrugged, following behind me. “I don’t know, undercooked meat, overcooked veg.”

Laughing, I told her I officially wanted to do it and sent Harry a text. While we changed back into dance clothes, my phone beeped. _Great idea_ , he had sent back.

_Glad you think so_ , I typed out, _because I’ll need to borrow your kitchen_.

Later that day I e-mailed my mom for recipes. She, too, was apparently not convinced that I wouldn’t end up giving everyone food poisoning. When I looked at her recipes, they seemed familiar and easy enougn, but I was quickly reminded that the U.S. was the only place on the planet that _didn’t_ use the metric system. I’d have to convert everything, which I had no idea how to do. When I told Harry this, he told me to enlist Kate’s help. Before I pressed the send button, I had one of those surreal moments where I couldn’t believe that I was _actually_ texting Kate Middleton.

The five of us agreed on a date, and Kate and Bianca promised they’d help me with the conversions. Harry and William would be away all week for work; Harry with the Blues  & Royals, the military regiment he belonged to, and William with the Royal Air Force. They’d be back just in time for dinner.

On Saturday after the show, Kate and B and I went to the Tesco to buy groceries. “Roxanna, are you certain you need such a large turkey?” Kate asked, peering into the shopping cart.

“Yeah, of course!” I insisted. “You make sandwiches with the leftovers all week. It’s tradition.” Kate clearly didn’t get it, but she was a good sport for pretending she did.

When we got to the checkout counter, the woman behind the cash register gasped. “Oh my Lord! Kate Middleton and Roxy DeLaSearle at my store!”

I blushed and let Kate take the wheel on this one. “Hello,” she greeted the middle-aged woman with a friendly smile. “How are you?”

“Lovely! How are you ladies tonight?” she beamed at us while she rang up the groceries.

“We’re doing well! Roxy here wanted to cook us dinner for Thanksgiving,” Kate explained.

“Well you ladies have fun. Enjoy your Thanksgiving,” she called after us.

“That was weird,” Bianca muttered as we loaded the groceries into the trunk – which Bianca and Kate kept telling me to call the “boot” – of Kate’s car.

She gave a casual shrug. “It happens all the time. When you give them some harmless glimpses to the inside it makes them like you better, like they know you or something. I don’t mind that so much as I mind people taking pictures of us in the movie theater.”

“You poor thing. However will you survive?” Bianca dryly sympathized.

When we got back to KP we put away the groceries and Kate opened a bottle of red wine. We were all stretched out on couches in the living room, sipping and gossiping, when Kate asked, “So Roxy. What’s going on with you and Harry?”

“Nothing new,” I shrugged. “The usual. Relationship limbo.”

Kate shook her head slowly. “I’ve _never_ seen Harry like this. It’s unbelievable.”

“Like what?” Bianca asked.

Kate paused, searching for the right words. “Like…well, before, Harry used to go out all the time and drink until his liver could hardly function. Only now he’s perfectly content to bake brownies and watch films with you.” At my expression, Kate added, “It’s a good thing.”

Taking a sip of wine, Bianca asked, “He used to run round with your sister a lot, right Kate?”

“ _Not_ in that way,” Kate answered before I could get suspicious. “They just both had a lot of the same friends. Pippa’s sort of a wild child, too. Harry’s settled down a lot lately, though. Wish I could say the same of Pip.”

“Well not everyone can be as classy as you, Kate.” I genuinely meant it, but Kate and Bianca were able to sense an edge to my tone.

“Don’t mind her,” Bianca assured Kate. “She’s just bitter that you like your sister because she has one that she hates.”

“You do?” Kate asked.

I nodded and refilled my glass. “Grace. She’s six years older than me.”

Kate looked questioningly at Bianca, who shrugged. “So you're not close?” she asked cautiously.

“We’re not _not_ close,” I gave a half-answer. “Grace is…Grace is you,” I gestured to Kate. “She’s perfect, all the time. She’s always been good at everything. Everything she’s ever tried to do, she’s been perfect at it. She’s a brain surgeon in Boston. She saves people’s lives, and I put on a tutu.”

“You think you’re not perfect at that?” Bianca pointed out.

I stared at her, borderline not believing she’d just said that. “No, I’m not. I work hard at it every day to be as good as I am. It doesn’t come naturally.”

“It comes more naturally to you than to me,” she stated.

“Anyway, what difference does it make? That still doesn’t change the fact that Grace could win the Nobel prize one day and I’ll end my career with the ugliest feet this side of the Atlantic.”

“And a prince for a boyfriend. That’s an accomplishment,” Bianca joked.

“Seriously Roxy,” Kate piped up. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not performing brain surgery. You’re dancing. That’s what you love to do, that’s what makes you happy. If you’re not happy, you can’t help other people. You just can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried.” She paused, considered what she was about to say, and went on. “I mean, I don’t even have a job right now, and when I get married, a lot of what people think that what I’ll be doing seems ridiculous. I’ll also be working for children’s hospices, or trying to help end poverty, but my job is technically just to exist.”

We were all silent for a moment, letting Kate’s statement sink in. After a long pause, Bianca scoffed. “Well I don’t feel bad for either of you slags.” We burst out in laughter and poured ourselves another round of wine.

***

“Okay,” I announced, more to myself than anyone else. “The turkey is in the oven, the green bean casserole just needs to be baked with the onions on top, the stuffing is being warmed, and the yams are sugar-coated. I just need to mash these potatoes and make the gravy.”

“I’m putting on trousers with an elastic waist,” Kate said, looking at all of the food in front of us.

Bianca came up beside me and stirred the batch of pumpkin puree. “What’s this for?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at the orange substance.

“Pumpkin pie,” I told her. “Duh.”

“And this?” Kate asked, lifting up two cans of cranberry sauce.

“Cranberry sauce! Some people make their own, but I don’t like cranberries,” I told them. Then, I looked down at my clothes, which were covered in flour, dried egg whites, blotches of cream of mushroom soup. “Okay, B, you baste the turkey. I’m going to get ready.”

Bianca gave me a hopeless look. “How on earth do you baste a turkey?” She only looked more confused as I handed her the turkey baster and left the kitchen. 

The day had started early, as I’d woken up to start roasting the turkey, which I knew took a long time. I’d spent the next several hours chopping, peeling, dicing, mixing, tasting. There had only been three times that I’d panicked and called my mom, who had assured me that everything was fine. William and Harry had called to tell us they’d be home around five or six, and I was looking forward to their return, mostly because I wanted everyone to be impressed with my cooking. Also, I felt like after Thanksgiving I could fully embrace the holiday season, which meant Christmas presents. I was _great_ at Christmas presents. Having never had much money to spend on them, I’d become an expert at the art of the sentimental homemade gift. I just hoped William and Kate weren’t planning on exchanging anything with me… because I didn’t think a cotton ball tissue box would do the trick.

It was nearly five by the time I’d put on my brown, long sleeve, v-neck sweater dress with black tights and boots. I’d left my hair down, trying to tame it to be unfrizzy as much as I possibly could. When I came into the kitchen, Bianca was carefully basting the turkey in its pan while Kate looked on. “You’re doing great!” I assured her.

“Oh, thank God. Here, you do it, this thing is scary,” she insisted, thrusting the baster at me.

“You look nice, Roxy,” Kate noted. “Can we open the wine yet?”

I shrugged. “I guess. You don’t really drink wine on Thanksgiving.”

Kate nodded slowly. “Oh. So…what do you drink?”

“Cider,” I answered. Bianca and Kate drew their heads back, blinking at me like I was a Martian. Quickly, I saw the error of what I’d said. “But…who says you can’t break with tradition?” The girls agreed, nodding and uncorking a bottle of white wine. I chuckled to myself and poured a glass of sparkling cider.  
“Oh ladies!” Harry called into the house from the garage. “We’re home!”

Kate smiled and went into the garage to meet privately with William. Harry returned into the kitchen and I blinked. He'd always been handsome, there was no denying that, but _now_ …his hair was messy, he had stubble on his chin, he was wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt that hugged his biceps and clung to his abs. He was _sexy_. “Hello there,” he smiled, pulling the strap of his camouflaged rucksack over his head and dropping it to the ground.

“Hey,” Bianca waved at him. I was silent, feeling strangely hot and wobbly. Harry looked at me expectantly and I just muttered something and waved.

William and Kate entered then, hand in hand. William, too, had taken the opportunity of the past week to grow out a little stubble. The royals did it right. “It smells delicious in here,” he noted. “I’m starving.”

“Good, because Roxanna’s got a twelve-stone turkey,” Kate told them. Apparently “stone” was a weight measurement, and twelve was a lot.

“Do I have time to shower first?” William asked.

I checked the time. “Yeah, sure. The turkey has another thirty minutes, and the pie is still baking so…shower away.”

“Right,” he nodded and, without warning, he grabbed Kate, threw her over his shoulder like she was light as a feather (which she probably was), and made for his bedroom. We could hear her laughs and protests as they climbed the stairs. I blushed, feeling like I shouldn’t have been privy to such an intimate moment.

Harry, on the other hand, appeared to take no notice. He opened the door to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “It’s good to be home,” he sighed, sitting at a chair at the table and putting his feet up. When he folded his arms behind his head, his biceps flexed and I was pretty sure I was drooling.

“Hold it together, Roxy, for God’s sake,” Bianca muttered in my ear. “I’m going to change. I’ve got turkey fat all over me.”

“Why?” I blanched.

In a panicked, hysterical explosion she shouted, “Because I don’t know how to work a turkey baster!” and left the room.

I grinned and sat at the table next to Harry. For some reason, I felt more on edge. I assumed it had something to do with my heightened libido. “I’m looking forward to this meal, Rox. It smells delicious.”

“It’ll taste delicious,” I promised.

He grinned. “You seem quite sure of yourself.”

“I’m an amazing cook,” I told him. “There are two things I’m good at on this world – cooking and dancing.”

Harry leaned closer to me and, in a lower voice, asked, “So why didn’t you become a chef?” The way his eyes were sparkling, and the tone of his voice made me blush. He may as well have asked if I wanted to give him a lap dance.

Two could play this game. “I’m better at dancing,” I answered, leaning into him and making the gap between us even smaller.

“And what else are you good at?” Harry’s eyes drifted to the hollow of my neck, my collarbone, my mouth.

“Who wants to know?” I asked, the corners of my mouth lifting up, just a little.

Harry took another slow sip of his beer. When he placed the bottle back down on the table, he gave me a once over before letting a sly smile spread over his face. “That’s a nice dress.”

“Why, thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Are the Duke and Duchess of Humpington done yet? I’m starving. Roxy wouldn’t let us eat anything all day,” Bianca strode into the kitchen. Harry and I broke apart like roaches when the light’s been turned on. 

I stood up and opened the lower of the two ovens, stacked on top of each other. “The turkey looks good to go,” I noted, checking the thermometer. Bianca passed me the oven mitts and I pulled them on before reaching for the roasting pan. It felt like fifty pounds as I pulled it out of the oven. I wondered if that meant twelve stone…Proudly, I turned to Harry and Bianca at the table. “Guys! My first Thanksgiving turkey!”

They looked at each other blankly. “Um…congratulations?” Bianca offered. Just then, Kate and William came down looking flushed, but impeccably put together. “Why hello there,” Bianca greeted them. “Have fun?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Bianca,” William stated.

“Here Rox, let’s use the dining room,” Kate suggested, taking the green bean casserole and leading the way. In the living room, she led me through a door that had always been shut. It revealed a room with a long, dark oak table. Around it sat high-backed, ornately carved chaired with red backs embroidered with the Windsor coat of arms. Kate placed the casserole on the table before pulling open the drawers of a large, glass-doored china cabinet. She showed me silver, perfectly polished, and the china, also emblazoned with the crest. 

“Are we allowed to use that?” I asked in a whisper, like if I spoke too loud it would all shatter.

Kate let out that charming, airy giggle. “Of course, Roxy. It’s ours.”

“Yours, you mean,” I corrected her, putting the turkey down on the table as gently as I could.

“B! Come help!” Kate called. Bianca joined us and started helping Kate set the table. “Not mine yet, Roxy,” Kate mumbled, shaking her head. “Not mine yet.” Then she stepped back to look at it, probably admiring how fancy it looked. I couldn’t blame her.

The boys brought in the rest of the food and we all sat around the table. I smiled, feeling proud of all I’d accomplished…and also exhausted. “Can we tuck in?” Harry asked, gazing longingly at the turkey.

“You can serve yourselves, but don’t start eating yet,” I instructed them.

Bianca raised an eyebrow and smirked at me. “Why Rox? Are you going to _pray_?”

I reached over and playfully shoved her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Once all of our plates were full with turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, green beans, and cranberry sauce, I timidly tapped my knife to my glass. “Okay, now everyone take hands, but put your right palm down and your left hand up to symbolize giving and receiving.” I waited while we all shuffled hands. “Okay, so now we all say what we’re thankful for. I’ll start.” I took a deep breath while I thought about all I had to be thankful for. For once, I felt like it was an extensive list. “First, I’m thankful that I’ve been given the opportunity to dance at the Academy. It’s a huge honor and I get to do what I love doing almost every minute of the day. I’m thankful that I got B as a roommate,” I grinned at her. “I’d be totally lost without you. You help me so much in class and in life. I’m thankful that she made me go out to celebrate William and Kate, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met Harry, and then I wouldn’t have actually _met_ William and Kate. All four of you have welcomed me into your lives and been so kind and I feel like I’ve found my little niche here.” I blinked back my tears, which I was sure were a combination of being emotional and being exhausted, and turned to Bianca. “Okay B, your turn.”

Bianca considered for a minute. “I guess I’m most thankful that I got Roxy as a roommate. I couldn’t have asked for a better one. I’m glad that I can help you feel more at home, and that we can encourage each other at school, even when Madam is being a terrible cow.” We giggled and I thought she was finished, but she started up again like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I’m also thankful that William finally proposed to Kate.” We all laughed. “If he hadn’t, Roxy and I never would have gone out, and I wouldn’t be here right now.” With that, Bianca looked expectantly at William.

He smiled at Kate. “I’m thankful that Catherine agreed to marry me.” Kate looked down and blushed. “I’m grateful that my little brother found friends like Roxanna and Bianca, who seem to be positive influences. Catherine?”

Kate gave him one of their adorable, private, mind-reading smiles. “I’m thankful that William finally proposed as well. Mostly so that the press will stop calling me ‘Waity Katie.’ I’m thankful to have made two new friends, one of whom wanted to make this delicious feast. I’m thankful for, and looking forward to, the day when I have someone else sharing my experience.”

Instantly, I felt my face heat up. She meant, of course, that I too would soon be a royal girlfriend. She turned to Harry, who cleared his throat. “Well…I’m thankful to be gaining a new sister in April. I’ve never had a sister. The closest I got was Bea and Eugenie,” he referenced his cousins, “and they never listen to me, so it wasn’t what I expected.”

“Well I probably won’t listen to you, either,” Kate offered.

“Right, good to know,” Harry nodded. “I’m thankful for the opportunity to be in the Blues  & Royals, I love my Army job. I’m thankful that I reunited with B, an old friend, and met Roxy, a new friend. A new friend who can cook, and..." he paused and gave me a look that was way too intense to be happening around other people, "a new friend who opens my mind and makes me do and try new things that I never thought I’d like.”

Smiling, feeling like my heart was about to burst, I said, “Okay…dig in.”

***

“Oh…my…God,” William said, pushing his chair back from the table. He patted his stomach and turned to me. “Roxy, I’m never going to be able to fit into my uniform for the wedding after that.”

“Or your trousers tomorrow, for that matter,” Harry pointed out.

Bianca agreed. “Madam is going to kill us once she sees how bloated we are. My pas de deux partner will never be able to hold me. I’ll be as easy to lift as a lead zeppelin.”

I was beaming. “Good! That’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel after Thanksgiving.” Getting up, I pulled away the empty serving dish that used to be holding yams. “Now you all get to help me clean up.” When everyone else started to groan, I half-shouted over them. “Come on, with all of us it won’t be so bad!”

“Roxy, I very rarely say this, and I hate to do it, but…can’t we just use the staff? Just this once?” William pleaded.

I gave him a flat glare. “No, William. This is all part of the Thanksgiving fun!” Everybody groaned again and, with a satisfied smile, I headed into the kitchen.

An hour later, we were almost done cleaning up. I was scrubbing the last bit of turkey grease off the roasting pan when Harry joined me at the sink. We’d cleaned the stuff I’d used to cook with and the serving pieces, but as per William’s request we’d left the dishes and silver to the housemaids. I certainly wasn’t going to be responsible for breaking a priceless and historic plate. “You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” Harry noticed.

Grinning, I confirmed, “I am.”

“Because we’ve all eaten so much we’re sick?” he asked.

“Exactly.” Turning around, I realized that the kitchen was empty (yet sparkling clean!). “Where is everybody?”

“Lying down in the other room,” Harry told me. “We're all exhausted.” As soon as he said it, he let out a huge yawn.

I gave him a knowing smile. “That’s the tryptophan. It’s a chemical in the turkey that makes you sleepy.”

Harry nodded. “Well that explains it then.” With another yawn, he said, “So, I’ve been thinking.”

“You _have_?” I feigned shock. “Did it hurt?”

“Ha, ha,” Harry laughed sarcastically. “I can’t think of what to get you for Christmas.”

Instantly, I dropped the roasting pan into the sink with a loud clatter. Suds of soap splattered up and hit me in the chest and face. “Everything okay in there?” Kate called from the living room. I answered in a shrill tone, “Fine!” at the same time that Harry called out, “Yeah.”

He looked from the pan and then slowly back to me. “Shock and horror are not the reactions I was expecting while talking about Christmas.”

“Harry, you can’t get me anything,” I insisted in a hiss.

A confused expression on his face, he cautiously asked, “Okay…why not?”

“Because! Because, what am I supposed to get for you?” I pointed out. I mean, yes, I was planning on _making_ him something, but it certainly wasn't going to be up to par with whatever he got me. “There’s just no way.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing. There is a way, actually.” With a gulp, I waited for him to elaborate. _He wouldn’t bring it up now, would he?_ I asked myself. _I said after the holidays. This is not after! This is a month before!_ “For Christmas, I was thinking you could let me come see you dance.”

“No,” I vetoed the idea automatically.

“Roxy, come on.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because! You saw what happened last time! I don’t want to get clobbered by the paparazzi, and I don’t want Madam to get pissed, or for the other girls to resent me. I don’t know, pick one of those reasons.”

“I’ll have Clarence House call the press, we roll out a red carpet and give them access and they’re gone by the overture. As for Madam and the girls – we go to the ballet all the time. It’s called the Royal Ballet for a reason. As far as they know, it’s got nothing to do with you.” He paused and I bit down on my bottom lip. Seeing that I was softening my resolve, he pressed on. “Oh, and Will and Kate want to come, too.”

“What?” I shrieked.

Shrugging, Harry corrected himself. “Actually, I don’t think Wills would care, but Kate wants to go so…”

“Harry, no,” I repeated. “It’s absurd that you would even ask me that, and frankly, this makes me incredibly uncomfortable. So can we stop talking about it now?”

“Why does it make you uncomfortable?” Harry asked with a chuckle. 

The real answer was because even thinking about exchanging gifts (as opposed to me making them something small and corny) this was all just a reminder that they had more money than God, and that I was poor as dirt, but I didn't want to say that to him. To answer his question, I lamely muttered, “I don’t know.”

He sighed, frustrated. “Well you’ve got to let them do something, because they already got you something, and so did I.”

“Harry,” I groaned, rubbing the migraine that was starting to thud between my eyes.

“Don’t worry, Rox,” he tried to calm me. “It’s not like we got you diamonds or a yacht or anything. It’s supposed to be fun. It’s _Christmas_.”

I knew he was just using my childlike obsession with Christmas as a way to get what he wanted, but even so, it was working. Taking a deep breath, I appeased him. “All right, fine, but the photographers are gone by the first dance,” I insisted, poking my index finger into his chest.

Harry rubbed the spot where I’d poked him, pretending it had hurt. “Great. Perfect.”

“What’s perfect?” B asked. She, William, and Kate had entered the kitchen at that moment.  
Harry turned to them and announced, “I’ve asked Roxanna, and she said yes.” 

William and Bianca immediately looked panicked. Kate, trying to remain calm, asked, “You asked her what, Harry?”

“To go to the ballet. Gosh, slow down everybody.” He flashed an impish grin, knowing exactly what he’d done.

Bianca let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.” A beat, and then, “We’re going to have to start coming up with damage control for Madam.” I loved her for thinking of it, and for being in this trench with me. The five of us cleaned up listening to good music, making each other laugh, not really doing anything except hanging out together. It was good that we got this time to bond and be happy, because things were about to go very poorly for me…which I should have known, because my luck had been way too good lately. Unfortunately, I was about to be blindsided by a shock I never saw coming.


	11. Foxy Roxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Victoria White, the principle dancer of the RBC, had acknowledged my presence exactly three times. Once was when she was staring at me when Harry had come to _Cinderella_. The second time was when she’d smiled in a friendly way to the girls in the corps while we were waiting to go on backstage. The third time was during _Nutcracker_ rehearsals, when I’d been standing in front of the resin box and she’s said, “Excuse me.” I’d blinked stupidly at her before getting out of her way and letting her use it. I was very proud of all three of these moments, even though to most (sane) people, they seemed insignificant.

Before I’d met Kate - and even since knowing her - I was convinced that she was perfect. She never had a hair out of place, she never had food stuck in her teeth, she never snorted when she laughed. If I could multiply my admiration for her by about a thousand, that would be an accurate portrayal of my admiration for Victoria White. She was everything a ballerina should be: petite, dainty, with lean muscles, and not one ounce of fat. She had hair the color of champagne, and perfect technique and form. Her knee could easily skim her ear. She was beautiful and flawless. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was a ballerina by day, crime fighter by night, was working on a way to end world hunger, and had never made a mistake in her perfect life.

She was _not_ the kind of person who read the tabloids. She had no idea who I was and she didn’t care who I was dating, which, at this point, was no one, officially. So I was shocked when Victoria White placed one dainty, ivory hand on my shoulder before the “Waltz of the Flowers” and asked, “Are you Foxy Roxy?”

I only had time to blink at her like a fish with my mouth open before the cue sounded for us to go on stage. By the time I was back and able to ask Victoria to explain, she was nowhere to be found, and when she was found, it was on stage. 

When the show was over, Bianca headed back to the dorm. “You coming?” she asked.

“Oh…I’ll be there in a minute,” I told her. I spent the next hour pathetically waiting in the freezing cold by the stage door for Victoria to come out. When she did, she signed autographs and took pictures for a couple of fans who had waited, too. She would have walked right past me, but I cleared my throat and asked, “Um…Miss White?”

She stopped and looked around for the person who had called her. It took a while before her eyes landed on me. She raised her eyebrows, a faint smile on her face. She clearly had no idea who I was or why I wanted to talk to her. 

“Sorry. I just wanted to ask…um…you asked me…did you call me Foxy Roxy before?” I finally stammered out. Immediately after this ridiculous question was out of my mouth, I blushed. What if I had heard her wrong? 

Victoria nodded slowly, realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right. Foxy Roxy,” she repeated. Okay then, she’d definitely said it…

Confused, I nodded. My heart started racing and my palms were sweaty. Why did she keep calling me that? “Yeah, but…excuse me, but why are you calling me that?”

She frowned and started digging around in her dance bag. “This is you, isn’t it?” she asked, handing me a copy of the _Daily Mirror_. The cover photo was a picture of Harry and I that someone had taken in Kensington Gardens. Only whoever had taken the picture had gotten it at the exact wrong (or right, as they probably thought) timing. I remembered the moment – Harry had made fun of me for just recently having learned who William the Conqueror was, then wrapped one arm around my shoulders. I’d gone to push him off playfully in retaliation, but the photo had been taken at the exact moment that my hand was at level with Harry’s backside. So the picture looked like I was grabbing his ass. In blaring yellow type, the Mirror named me _Foxy Roxy!_ and in smaller white boldface, it promised stories on _RBA rocked by scandal! The Queen says “no way” to an American!_ and, the one that really hurt, _Kate tells Harry to move on!_

“Oh, no,” Victoria slowly lamented. “You’ve not seen it yet, have you?” I could only shake my head. She reached to take the tabloid back, but I held it just out of her grasp. “Look, Roxy, if you’re going to read it…perhaps you should go back to your dorm.”

“Why?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the offensive cover and looking back up at her. “What’s inside?” My heart was pounding even faster, my stomach clenching with dread. When Victoria failed to respond as quickly as I wanted her to, I opened the magazine, flipping frantically through the pages. 

My heart stopped. People always say that, but really, mine did. I felt it harden and crumble; lava into rock and rock into embers and embers into ash that then blew away. All at the same time, I wanted to die, faint, throw up, and cry. Splashed all over the pages of a tabloid, which had probably sold millions of copies that day, were grainy pictures of me back stage, half-naked, that someone had obviously taken with a cell phone. In a few of them, I was reaching for a costume, my face neutral. In others, I was laughing with Bianca. One had, unfortunately, caught me when I was blowing a kiss to Marcus, my flaming homosexual pas de deux partner. Only the magazine had conveniently cropped out the costume, Bianca, and Marcus. So the photos looked like I’d just been posing in my underwear. Just as a little bonus, since I’d been about to go on stage, the underwear was very small, and the bra strapless, showing more cleavage than usual. 

Victoria stepped closer to me, and in a soft voice she instructed, “Listen, I know you’re upset, but hold it in until you get back to your room or else someone will get a picture of it and you’ll wind up looking dramatic all over tomorrow’s papers.”

Numb, I nodded, stuffed the tabloid into my dance bag, turned around and walked away. As soon as the doors to the dorm lobby closed behind me, I clutched my stomach, doubled over, and let out a sob. “Miss DeLaSearle?” the receptionist asked timidly from behind her desk. “Miss DeLaSearle, are you all right?” When I couldn’t answer her through my tears and wails, she told me, “I’m just going to call down Miss Winchester. Is that okay?” Still, I was crying too hard to answer her, and I didn’t hear as she picked up the phone and called up to our room.

I did feel a hand on my back, and a moment later heard Bianca, in a soothing tone, coax me off the floor. “Come on now, Rox. Let’s get up and take a shower. You’ll feel better then.” If I had been able to, I would have told Bianca that I never planned on taking my clothes off ever again, but I was sobbing and too teary and snotty to say that. So, leaning on my friend, I stood on my weak knees and took the elevator to our room. Bianca got a towel and my shower caddy for me and led me down the hall to the bathroom. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked. Choking out sobs, I shook my head. Bianca sat on a bench and said, “Okay, well I’m going to stay anyway, just in case.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and I knew she meant to be my bodyguard.

After a few minutes of hot beads of water beating down on me, I felt recovered enough to function. I wasn’t sure if I’d stopped crying or if the water had just washed away the tears and snot. Whichever it was, I was well enough to shampoo, condition, soap up, and rinse. I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the curtain. Bianca opened her mouth to say something but I held up a hand. “Not here,” I told her. She nodded, understanding, and threw me a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. It occurred to me that she must know what had happened, because she hadn’t asked why I was upset, and she’d brought a change of clothes with her, whereas we usually just walked back to the room in our towels.

When we got back into the room, Bianca made sure that the door was shut and locked. I picked my phone up off my bed, where it must have spilled out of my purse that morning. I had twelve missed calls from Harry, three from Kate, and even one from William. I had five voicemails and seventeen text messages. Swearing under my breath and feeling like all of my limbs were made of steel, I collapsed onto my bed.

“An unknown number had been calling me all day, and I didn’t have time to listen to the messages until I’d already left the Opera House. Harry said he’s been trying to reach you all day, but then I saw that you’d left your mobile here.” She sat on her bed and gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Roxy. Believe me, if I find out which of these sloaney bitches did that to you, I’ll tear the bun right off her skull.”

I made a face that was supposed to resemble a smile.

Bianca got off her bed and sat next to me on mine. I rested my head on her shoulder and she wrapped an arm around me. “Rox. Cheer up. On the upside, you look _fantastic_ in the pictures.”

“I look like a trashy hooker,” I corrected her in hiccupping breaths.

“No way,” B insisted. “You look at _least_ like a high class call girl.” I sniffled another smile. “You should really call Harry. He’s worried sick over it.” When I didn’t say anything, she carefully asked, “Are you angry with him?”

Sighing, I felt grateful that I didn’t have to be anything less than honest with Bianca. “I know it’s not fair,” I started, “but I’m pissed!”

“I know,” she sympathized. “If not for Harry, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, tearing up again.

Bianca reached for the tissues on my nightstand and handed them to me. “But...you know you can’t reasonably blame this on him.”

“I know,” I muttered under my breath, wiping under my eyes with a tissue. 

She waited patiently before again suggesting that I call Harry. “You don’t even have to say much. Just let him know you’re okay.”

Figuring she was right, I picked up my phone and dialed Harry. “Oh thank God, Roxanna,” he breathed into the phone. Then, after a pause, he asked, “How are you, my darling?”

I cringed at the term of endearment. “I’m fine.” My voice sounded hollow, even to me.

“Roxy,” Harry pleaded with me. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not.” Well, I was trying not to be.

“I am so sorry. When I find out who did that, I’ll have the MI-5 rough them up,” he offered. I actually thought he was serious. When I didn’t say anything, Harry asked, “Can I impose just one moment longer and ask that you call Kate? She’s worried that you’ll think what they said was true.”

That was ridiculous. Nothing about the magazine had been true. Rationally, I knew that part was just as fabricated as the rest...but it had stung. “I’m tired. I should get to bed.”

Harry sighed. “Roxanna. Please call Kate.”

Adding onto the plethora of emotions I was experiencing, my heart wrenched with guilt now, too. “Yeah, all right,” I agreed.

“Thank you.” He paused before adding, “You must know, Roxanna, how very sorry I am about all of this. I…I care about you, immensely, and the idea of someone putting this out there just to hurt you…well, it just makes me sick.”

For the first time in what felt like forever (but was probably only an hour), I took a deep breath. The stretch in my lungs felt good, refreshing. I knew that what Harry was saying was true, and while I couldn’t fully appreciate it now, I thought maybe I would tomorrow. “I know. Thank you, Harry.”

“Right. Call me tomorrow morning, will you? Just to let me know how you feel?” I was nodding, but Harry somehow picked up on it. “Okay. Have a good night.”

When I hung up the phone, Bianca handed me a glass of water. “What did he have to say?”

“Just that he was sorry,” I told her, taking a sip. “He said I should call Kate.” Bianca nodded and waited patiently while I did.

“Roxanna, you poor dear. How are you?” The combination of Bianca and Kate’s compassion made tears spring to my eyes again. Although these were happy tears, because I was glad to have the two of them.

“I’m okay,” I told her, but I wasn’t sure if I was lying or not.

“I _know_ it won’t help right now, but you’ve _got_ to believe me – I’ve been there.” She had. Some of the first pictures that had surfaced of Kate Middleton had been basically of her in her underwear. “Do you…feel ready to take some valuable advice on what to do next?”

Somehow, I didn’t think that Kate was going to suggest staying in my bedroom and only emerging while wearing a parka. “Next?” I asked wearily.

“The boys are playing in a polo match for Tusk Trust on Sunday. You’re going to come out. You’re going to be wearing something incredibly tasteful and fabulous. Everyone is going to say that you’re insanely brave and classy and gorgeous and everyone will forget about the _Mirror_.”

“Kate…”

“I know, you’re thinking, ‘But where will I get an incredibly tasteful and fabulous outfit?’   
The answer is, in my closet.”

“Kate…”

“So you’re going to come over tomorrow night and we’ll pick something out with enough time to get it tailored.”

“Kate, I really don’t want to – “

“Which is exactly why you should.” Kate paused to let this sink it. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Before I could protest anymore, Kate hung up.

Confused as to what had just happened, I tossed my phone aside. Bianca sat back down across from me on her bed. “Let me tell you how tomorrow’s going to go. You’re going to wake up, and you’re going to get out of bed, even though everything in your body will be telling you to do the contrary. You’re going to go to conditioning, and the girls are going to stare. You’re going to ignore them. You’re going to be the kickass dancer you always are.”

With a doubtful look, I asked, “Are you sure I’m going to do all that tomorrow?” She nodded and I got into bed. “Then I’ll need to be well rested.”


	12. Keep Calm and Carry On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The first part of the morning went pretty much the way Bianca had predicted. I woke up, instantly wanted to hide under the covers, but got up anyway. We went through conditioning while I tried to avoid the gawking the other girls were just openly doing now, and my stomach clenched when Madam stopped us ten minutes early. “Girls, what I am about to say is very serious, so pay close attention.” _This might be the one,_ I thought, _I might cry this time_. “Ladies, we are at the _Royal Ballet Academy_ ," she reminded us, emphasizing every word. ”Before you came here, you signed a contract saying that you agreed to act _only_ in ways that lived up to the standard of this institution. You said you would try to represent us, to show the world why we have a good name, to live with _integrity_.” She paused and swept her eyes across the room. “Let me tell you how I know that one – or more – of you ladies does _not_ have integrity: because one – or more – of you ladies took advantage of one of your fellow classmates. One – or more – of you ladies turned on a student that you look in the eye every day. One – or more – of you ladies have disappointed me in every way possible. You owe your classmates – not only the one whom you so ruthlessly exploited for your own personal gain, but all of them – an apology, for you have brought them down with you in this.” Madam penetrated us with her smoldering glare. “I suggest you leave my studio immediately, and think long and hard about whether or not you deserve to be here.”

For a long moment, there was a dense, awkward silence. Madam gave us one last withering look before motioning to the door – our cue to leave. The rest of the girls filtered out, but I hung back. “Um…Madam?” I timidly approached her.

She turned around from the piano, glasses on. “Yes, Roxanna?”

My throat twisted into a ball and my eyes stung with tears. I couldn’t get any words out, so I just threw my arms around her. Madam stood rigidly, obviously feeling shocked and awkward, before she finally relaxed and hugged me back. When I pulled away, she gave me a kind smile and a squeeze on the shoulder. “Get to class, Roxanna.”

“ _Oui, Madam. Merci, Madam._ ”

As I rejoined Bianca, she smiled. “See? The day’s going better already.”

***

After the show that night, I put up the hood of my coat, wrapped my scarf up to my nose, and crept out to a car with blacked out windows that was waiting for me. On the ride over to KP, I thought about what I was going to say to Harry. He’d seen me practically nude. For that matter, so had William. The _future King of England_ had seen me half-naked. Oh, and so had most of the country. Sighing, I leaned my head back against the headrest. _Fuck._

The car pulled into the garage and I got out. At this point, I felt comfortable enough to let myself in. When I did, the apartment was strangely quiet. Slowly, I ventured into the kitchen and living room, but found no one. “Hello?” I called, and then shivered when I was only met with my own echo. Quietly, I treaded up the stairs and down the long hallway towards Harry’s room. The man in the red coat was outside and I asked, “Is he in?”

“Yes, miss,” he bowed to me.

This display of respect, which I felt was as wholly undeserved as it had been the first night I’d stayed over, made me uncomfortable and I forced a smile out at him before knocking on the door. “One moment,” Harry called. I heard him shuffling around before he opened the door. “Oh,” he blinked, clearly surprised to see me. 

I didn’t have anything else to say, and this reaction surprised me so I just muttered, “That wasn’t exactly the greeting I was hoping for.” 

“Right,” Harry acknowledged. “Sorry, I just didn’t know you were here yet.”

This wasn’t getting less weird. He seemed guilty or something. Whatever the reason, it was getting really awkward. “Is…this okay?”

“Of course,” he insisted, and opened his door wider. “It’s a bit messy at the moment,” Harry gestured to his cluttered bedroom. Then, holding up the phone I hadn’t noticed in his hand he requested, “Just give me one moment.” Nodding, I sat quietly on his bed. There were empty beer cans on the coffee table, clothes strewn over the backs of chairs, couches, and piled on the floor. A muddy pair of wellies, one standing upright, one on its side, had been discarded by the fireplace. “Yes, but Papa she was at school.” Oh, great. Harry was on the phone, talking about me. With his dad. About my naked pictures. Well, now I knew why he was being so weird about letting me in. “That’s in violation of the laws of the PCC. Yes, I want you to say something to Clarence House! They shouldn’t have been printed – she was at school! I don’t care if she’s eighteen, she’s a student!” Harry waited while his dad explained something, looking frustrated. “Yes. Yes, I know. Right. Tell me how it goes.” When he hung up the phone, he turned to me and very carefully asked, “So…how are you?”

“Um…what were you talking about?” I asked, ignoring his question.

Sitting down next to me, Harry tried to explain. “After Mum died, they passed laws about when the press could and couldn’t take pictures of us. The laws apply to everyone, really. That’s why they have to stay a certain distance away from you, and they’re not supposed to take pictures of anyone at school.”

I still didn’t really see the point. “So…what do you do about it?”

“Well, we call the Press Complaints Commission, and they can take legal action against the publications,” he told me.

“What’s the point?” I scoffed.

“The point is that I get to protect you,” Harry answered. I instantly felt my body tense up. I wasn’t Bella Swan – I didn’t need some man to protect me from the big, bad world. “My friends shouldn’t live in fear of harassment by the press. It’s bad enough that I’ve got to, but I get it – I am who I am. This was completely unfair. They had absolutely no right to publish these.”

I could tell that he was getting heated just talking about it, so I reached out and gave his knee a gentle squeeze. He was silent for a minute and I sighed. “Don’t say anything.”

“What?” Harry blanched. “Roxy, no, we have to do something.”

“Why?” I shrugged. “It won’t turn back time and stop the pictures from being printed. It won’t make the stories un-read.”

“But Roxy – “

“The bigger of a deal this becomes, the longer the story is circulating in the papers and I just want it to go away. So could you please…could you please just let it go?” I asked.

Harry’s mouth puckered. I could tell that he didn’t want to do this at all. Those grey clouds I’d become all too familiar with came rolling in under his blue eyes. It took a long time before he finally agreed, in a terse tone, “Yeah. All right. I’ll tell Papa.”

An awkward pause followed. I figured it was best to change the subject. “Did Kate tell you about her plan?”

“She did,” he admitted. “I think it sounds like it’ll work. Kate knows how to do these things. She’s had her fair share of bad press, so I’d trust her.”

I turned around to face him. His room was a complete mess. There was a fire in the fireplace, crackling and roaring away. The room smelled like pine and cedar. I was exhausted, and he’d been acting so strange. “Harry,” I said, blinking back my tears. “Can you just…hug me?”

Before I could beat myself up for sounding so pathetic, Harry took two long strides to me and had me swept up in a hug. “It’ll be all right, Roxy. I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but it will be, I promise. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I shook my head, still crying.

“It sort of is. You don’t deserve this, Roxy. You don’t,” he insisted.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clinging onto him tighter.

There was another knock on the door and Harry told the knocker to come in. Kate opened the door slowly. I pulled away from Harry and waved to her. “Hey. I heard you were here,” she greeted me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded but felt like I’d panic again when I thought about leaving Harry. “Are you coming?” I asked him.

He looked surprised. “Sure, if you want me to.”

The three of us silently made the trek to Will and Kate’s room, which was clear across the other side of the apartment, closer to the room in which Harry and I had danced. I felt like all the portraits were staring down on my in judgment, like that scene in _The DiVinci Code_. Harry reached for my hand and laced his fingers with mine. When we reached William’s bedroom, he was laying on the bed, holding a can of beer and watching TV. I heard, “Clarence House has no official comment, nor does the Royal Ballet Academy,” right before he quickly changed the channel.

“Oh, hey Roxy,” he waved a greeting.

“Hey William.”

He rolled his eye. “You’re here all the time. You can call me Wills.“ Before I could protest, he continued. “You’re here to raid Kate’s closet?”

Under other circumstances, this would have overjoyed me. “Yup. That’s the plan.”

Kate turned to me. “It’s not much now. Once Will and I get married, we’ll have our own apartment and a bedroom with a proper closet, but for now, it’s just this.” She opened the door to reveal “just this.” “Just this” was a closet twice the size of an average walk-in. The pieces were sorted by categories; a section for jeans, a section for t-shirts, a section for dresses, casual and formal. Under where the clothes hung were cubbies stuffed with shoes and bags. In the middle stood an antique full-length mirror. There was a vanity next to it that looked like a sample counter at Sephora…and Tiffany’s. It seemed like if at any point I reached into a rack of clothing, I’d fall into Narnia. Okay…I was starting to feel marginally better…

Either not noticing or not caring about my dropped jaw, Kate explained her thoughts on what I should wear. “So I think we should rule out anything black, skinny jeans, and skirts and boots above the knee, but since it’s polo, you’re going to want a boot of some sort, probably a riding boot.”

“Whoa, Kate,” I tried to slow her down. My head was already spinning. “Let’s slow the roll here. I don’t even know what size I am or what you are, or if any of this stuff will even fit me.”

Kate held up her phone. “I push a button and I’ve got anything in here in your size within hours.”

Impressed, I looked from her to Harry and back again. “Well…that is efficient.”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “Feeling better?”

***

A couple of hours later, Kate and I had created an outfit…and by Kate and I, I mean mostly Kate. It was the only thing that had successfully distracted me from my amateur _Playboy_ spread. Everything Kate owned was too long for me, as she was seven feet tall and I was three (or so it seemed), but she was certain that she could get me those garments in my size by Thursday. “Are you sure Kate? I mean, don’t you kind of have a lot going on?”

She waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be glad to have something to do that isn’t wedding-related.”

“Are you ladies finished in there?” William called from the bed. He and Harry were watching some movie that involved a lot of loud explosions. Harry had gone to get them more beer.

“Yup,” Kate confirmed as we headed out of her beautiful wonderland of a closet. “I’m just going to step out to call Mum and Pippa to see if they have any of that stuff before I call the stores,” she told us, and left the bedroom. 

This left me alone with William…which was kind of awkward. I never had been before, and we didn’t have much in common, so I didn’t know what to talk about…or if I should talk at all. I was wondering if there was some royal protocol I was supposed to follow when he asked, “Wanna watch _Apocalypse Now_?” he offered.

“Um…I’m good.”

Chuckling, he nodded. “I thought so.” Picking up the remote, he muted the TV and then told me to have a seat. Since there was nowhere else that made sense, I awkwardly sat with half my ass on the corner of the bed. “Did Harry tell you about the PCC?” he asked. I nodded and looked down at my hands. “You’re not making a statement?” When I shook my head, William asked why not.

“It just doesn’t seem worth it. Making a statement change the fact that the pictures were published.” Pausing, I wondered whether or not I should tell William the other reason. Figuring he could at least offer some advice, I decided to go ahead. “Besides, I don’t want to piss anyone off.”

“Hm. I see,” William nodded. He looked contemplative for several minutes before he started again. “When I was younger, there was an article on the cover of the _Mail_ about my mum. Some imbecile with a camera had taken pictures of her legs while she was in a bathing suit, and the reporters had pointed out every single thing that was wrong with them – every dent of cellulite, every vein, every inch of fat. When I came home, I found her locked in the bathroom because she didn’t want us to see her crying. This woman had been brought to tears because of some nasty pictures, and she was _thirty_. You’re eighteen.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I looked down and started pulling on a loose string of William’s brown comforter. “How did she…” I wanted to say, “ever come out of the bathroom,” but thought that sounded ridiculous. 

Thankfully, William picked up where I left off. “Well, she had me and Harry, and when my parents were divorced, they actually became good friends. The point is, she had a lot of people around her who could remind her that she was gorgeous, a role model, and a good mum.” He reached over and placed his huge hand on top of my tiny one. In a voice just a little louder than a whisper, he continued. “There’s a reason you’re allowed to be alone in a room with me right now, Roxanna. There’s a reason you met Harry, and there’s a reason that you keep coming back.”

Blinking, I asked, “You mean…like…God?”

William shook his head, amused. “No, Roxanna, not God. It’s because you’re like Kate. You’re like my mum.”

“I’m _not_ like them.”

“You are, because you’re strong enough to take it.”

In a small voice, I admitted, “I don’t know if I am.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to know. I know, and you have me, and Kate, and Harry, and Bianca, and your mum to know for you.” I was already blinking back my tears when he decided to pile it on. “You know Roxanna, here in Britain we have a saying. Keep calm, and carry on.”

Overwhelmed by a surge of gratitude for him, I threw my arms around him. He chuckled and hugged me back. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on in here?” Harry announced, entering the room, a beer bottle in each hand.

“Well I was thinking about having an affair, but now you’ve come in and ruined it,” William joked. Kate came in the room then, too, and we all chatted a bit about Sunday before I looked down at my watch. It was past midnight already. 

“I should get back to school,” I told them.

“I’ll walk you out,” Harry offered, getting off the bed.

“See you, Roxy,” Will waved, before reaching over and calling for a car for me. I waved to him and Kate and started down the hall with Harry in an awkward silence. When he reached for my hand, I let him take it again. 

After a minute, he cleared his throat. “This is usually the place where I lose them.”

“Lose who?” I frowned.

“Girls,” Harry answered. Confused, I waited for him to explain. “Things like this happen, and then they decide that they don’t want any part of it. I can’t blame them. At this point, I almost expect it.”

Nodding, I responded, “Have I ever done anything you expect me to do?”

Grinning, Harry opened the front door. “You’ve got a point there.”

I turned to him in the door jam, placed on hand on his shoulder, stood on my toes, and pressed my lips to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.” He was still blushing when the car pulled away.

***

I didn’t leave campus for most of the week after that. I went to classes, performed, and spent what little free time I had studying and avoiding the television. I did notice, however, that there seemed to be more people in the audience, and more people staring at me when I exited the Opera House through the stage door. It was like the company had its own little freak show. I understood that people were interested to see the half-naked girl who had somehow got a grip on Prince Harry’s heart, and his ass, but just because I understood it, _didn’t_ mean I had to like it. 

There were no paparazzi allowed in the Opera House, but that didn’t stop curious patrons from waiting outside the door with cell phones out to get a glimpse of me. Videos had surfaced on YouTube of a blurry image (me) in a black coat, hood up, sunglasses and scarf on, leaving to go back to the dorm. Other tabloids had also used the pictures to try and start a rumor that I had an eating disorder. They had quotes from people who were apparently my friends who had spoken to them about it. The pictures had been edited to make me look deathly thin. If I would have seen them about somebody else, I would have thought I looked sick, so I couldn’t blame the people who were buying into the garbage. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Bianca was on the internet every night, trying not to let me see the on-line bullies who were calling me fat. I wasn’t really sure how I could be anorexic and fat at the same time, but apparently the public who were reading the tabloids didn’t really care about things like making sense.

Harry called just about every day, but that was nothing compared to my mom. I didn’t even know how she was affording all of the long distance bills, but she called several times a day. No matter how much I insisted I was fine, she kept calling. “This is just what those people do! Next thing you know, they’ll be chasing your car down a tunnel.”

“God, Mom! Don’t say that!” I shouted her down with scorn.

“It’s _true_ , Roxy! You have to look out for it. They can be dangerous!” she insisted, as if I didn’t already know. “You should call your sister. Journalists have been calling her and it’s freaking her out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, it’s freaking _her_ out?”

“Roxanna,” my mom said my name slowly in a warning tone.

“She could call me,” I pointed out.

“She doesn’t want to bother you. Just call her.” With that command, I knew the conversation was over. When I did get around to calling Grace, she didn’t even pick up. I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice as I left her a message telling her to ignore the journalists and call me whenever. She didn’t return my call. She was probably busy doing brain-surgeon things.

Saturday after the show I went back to KP, where it seemed I spent an impossibly large portion of my time these days. Kate and I just wanted to make sure that the clothes I picked out would fit, and then I’d take them back to the dorm. We’d decided that it was best for me to go to the polo match with Bianca, so it wouldn’t look like I was hiding behind the Royals, but Kate, Will, and Harry kept saying “Clarence House,” and I was pretty sure that I _was_ hiding behind Clarence House. “You need your own PR person,” Harry had joked while we tried clothes options.

“I don’t understand what those people do,” I admitted. “Like, I get it in theory. I just don’t understand why they’re necessary.”

“For times like this,” Kate had pointed out, handing me a blazer.

“Well I don’t have one, and I’m fine,” I shrugged.

Kate had laughed. “You have us.”

When I got to KP on Saturday night, I found Kate and her mom in the kitchen with a glass of wine. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey Roxy. The boys had to go to Highgrove to meet with their dad. This is my mum, Carole,” Kate introduced us.

I shook her hand. “Hello. It’s good to meet you.”

“So you’re Roxy, Harry’s girlfriend,” Carole noted, giving me a once over. _Probably shocked to see me wearing clothes_ , I thought.

“Not exactly,” I answered her. “We’re just friends.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh? But I thought – “

“Mum,” Kate interrupted her, giving a subtle head shake. Carole pursed her lips and said no more on the matter. “Come on, Rox, I’ve got the stuff upstairs.” The three of us went up to Kate and Will’s room, but not before the Middletons offered me a glass of wine. Figuring that I probably shouldn’t be drinking in my fragile emotional state, I turned it down. 

In the bedroom was a clothing rack with white bags pulled over the different pieces. “Some of these are Pippa’s,” Carole told me, sitting on the edge of the bed. “She’s not as tall as Kate, and she’s got more of an athletic build, so her clothes might be a better fit.”

“She had all this stuff?” I asked, sifting through the clothes.

Kate rolled her eyes. “I know, it’s ridiculous. We just always like the same things. Mum’s got so much of the same stuff, too. It’s embarrassing.”

Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know, it sounds kind of nice. My mom, Grace, and I all have such different tastes and body types that we couldn’t share clothes even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.”

While I tried on clothes, Carole wasn’t shy about offering up her advice. “Listen dear, I know you’re upset about all of this. Who wouldn’t be?” she asked hypothetically as Kate zipped me into a dress. I didn’t mind her giving her opinion, because I knew she knew what she was talking about. “Lord knows Kate’s been through media bashing. I’ve been through it myself, but the important thing to remember, Roxy, is that it doesn’t matter what they say.”

“It doesn’t?” I asked. “Because I feel like it does.” I was being a little testy, but I’d been given this speech about a thousand times in the past week.

“Of _course_ it doesn’t,” Carole ignored my attitude. Having raised two teenage girls, she had probably learned to tune it out. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it only matters that you have dignity and self-respect and what have you. We both know that’s trite and simply not true.” Okay, this part of the speech was different. “The Palace does not like a scandal, Roxy, and I can assure you that someone somewhere is telling Harry to sever ties with you, but he hasn’t, has he?” The thought that Harry’s “people” were telling him to drop me cut a slash through my heart. I conjured up images of the Queen insisting that I was just another attention seeking harlot, desperate to prolong my fifteen minutes. “Don’t look so frightened, darling.”

Looking down at my feet, I shrugged. “I just don’t want to do something that will reflect badly on Harry.”

“He _knows_ that. That’s what’s important. That you’re loyal to him, and then he’ll be loyal to you.” Pausing, she asked, “What do your parents say?”

I let out a frustrated breath. “Well, my ‘parents’ is just my mom, and she already wasn’t the biggest fan of me spending time with Harry,” I answered honestly.

Carole raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Oh?”

It took me some careful thought to figure out a way to say that she thought the monarchy was ridiculous without offending anyone. “Yeah. She um…she read a lot of Tina Brown, you know, when…”

Carole nodded, confirming that there was no need for me to finish my sentence. “Well I suppose that would make anyone suspicious.” Waving a hand, she shook her head and went back to her original point. “Anyway, the point is that for now you have Harry’s loyalty, and you have your friends to support you, and next week someone else will do something stupid and you’ll be old news.”

“All right, what do you think?” Kate asked after she’d slipped a coat on me.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, but waited to see what Carole would say before I expressed what I thought. For the past three months I’d been towing the line between trying to look appropriate and trying not to look like I was just a desperately hopeless fan trying to be Kate. When I remained silent, Mrs. Middleton gave me a once over and the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Well, you look like the picture of appropriate class, Roxy.”

For some reason, I felt a huge surge of relief and let out a breath I didn’t know why I’d been holding. “Really?”

“Really.”

When I was getting ready to leave, clothes in bags over my arm, I thanked Kate and told her I’d see her tomorrow. Turning to Carole, I said, “Make sure you tell Pippa thanks for loaning me this stuff.”

“Not to worry. That child needs more clothes like she needs a hole in the head.”

“And…thanks for the advice.”

Carole gave me a kind smile. “It was my pleasure. These things happen, and they _will_ happen again. You just move on. You keep going.” I nodded at her, blinking tears out of my exhausted eyes. She placed her hands on my shoulder. “Oh, darling. I know it must be hard for you with no family here, but if you ever need some motherly care or advice, I hope you know you can come to me.” Then she embraced me in the kind of hug only a mother can give. It actually made me feel a lot better, and, when she pulled away, she repeated the phrase William had told me earlier in the week. “Keep calm, and carry on.”

*** 

“All right. Are you ready for this?” Bianca asked, putting her car in park. “If you’re not, we can tear out of this place like an action film.”

I chuckled appreciatively. “No, I’m good,” I assured her. 

“What’s our motto?” she asked like a schoolteacher. Together, we chorused, “Keep calm, and carry on.” With that, she opened her door before I took a deep breath and did the same. When I got out, I heard the buzz of flashing cameras, as well as the chatter of the other guests at the match. Ignoring them (or trying to), Bianca and I made our way inside the tent, flashing our invitations at the security guard. 

“You want a drink?” Bianca asked.

“I’d better not,” I shook my head.

She smirked. “Maybe, but I asked if you _wanted _one.”__

__We skipped the bar and gravitated to Kate, who was talking to some of William’s friends. “Oh hey! Everyone, this is Roxy. Roxy, everyone.” I smiled and shook hands with the group of attractive, obviously wealthy people she was speaking with. None of them said an unkind word or even gave me a suspicious glance. “The outfit looks great,” Kate murmured so only she and I could hear. “It’s working like a charm.”_ _

__“How can you tell?” I asked._ _

__“My assistant is getting calls asking what you’re wearing.” She pointed into a corner where her assistant, Rebecca, was on her phone, looking at me. Kate waved her over. “Hey Bec. Do you want me to tell you what this is?” Rebecca nodded and Kate started to explain, showing me off like she was Vanna White and I was the _Wheel of Fortune_ board. “Today, Roxanna is wearing the Liverpool brown coat. Underneath we have a grey turtleneck sweater dress, with black tights and black Aquatiala boots.” Rebecca scribbled all this down and went back to her phone conversation. As she walked away I heard her spelling out Aquatiala. _ _

__I was feeling proud of myself when Guy and Piers came over, ruining it, of course. “Well if it isn’t Foxy Roxy herself.”_ _

__“And wearing clothes! How unlike her!”_ _

__Kate glared at them. “Boys. Was that necessary?”_ _

__Guy told her it was. “Otherwise there’d be an elephant in the room, and it would be awkward.”_ _

__“Whereas now it’s just awkward. But no elephant!” Piers pointed out cheerfully._ _

__Throwing an arm around me, Guy got uncomfortably close. From the smell of stale Foster’s on his breath, I could tell that he’d already had a few. “By the way, Rox, the pictures? Fantastic.” He made the “OK” gesture by pressing the tips of his thumb and forefinger together._ _

__I hardly had time to be offended before I heard, “Guy!” He jumped away from me and we both turned to see who had spoken. William was standing at one opening to the tent, dressed and ready for polo. His arms were crossed over his chest, his mouth set in a grim line. _I_ wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of that look. He motioned for Guy to come hither and he slowly snaked his arm back off my shoulders. Guy went over to William, doing a perfect imitation of a dog with a tail between its legs._ _

__Harry came through the tent then. He gave me a brief smile before frowning and turning to Will and Guy. It was easy to tell that he was asking them what was going on and William explained, gesturing to me. Harry gave Guy the same horrifying stare that his older brother had before shaking his head and muttering something at Guy that I couldn’t make out. He then turned and began walking towards me, stomping just a little. “I’m sorry about that,” he gestured to Guy. “He didn’t mean any harm.”_ _

__“Hm…strange way of going about _that_ ,” I noted in a clipped tone._ _

__“Well, to be fair…” Harry paused, the trace of a smirk on his mouth. It was that kind of smirk that was a dead giveaway that he’d been up to no good. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to be angry with me?”_ _

__Letting out a bold laugh, I assured him I didn’t. “I make no such promise, Harry Wales. What have you done?”_ _

__Making a concentrated effort to look everywhere but at me, Harry quickly revealed, “Guy, Piers, and I have been calling you Foxy Roxy since the night we met you.”_ _

__“Harry!”_ _

__“It’s not my fault it rhymes!” he pointed out, holding his hands up in self-defense. “It could be worse. You could be Waitey Katie.”_ _

__“I’d rather be Ugly Mugly or Chubby Wubby!”_ _

__Shaking his head and looking confused, Harry countered, “It’s a name, Roxy, not _Teletubbies_.” A bell went off and Harry told me he’d better go. “See you after?”_ _

__“Yeah,” I confirmed, hugging him._ _

__Smirking again, he winked and walked away, making sure to throw over his shoulder, “Later, Fox.”_ _

__***_ _

__We all clinked our glasses together as, later that night, we toasted. “To Roxy’s first victory over the British press corps!” Kate announced._ _

__“But not the last,” Harry added._ _

__I took a sip of my wine and the possibility that we spent a ridiculous amount of time toasting to silly things occurred to me. Not that I minded, especially in this case. Throughout the polo match, Bianca had been checking the gossip blogs on her phone. The internet was rife with headlines like, “Roxy stays classy amidst scandal,” or “Roxy Not Too Foxy At Polo!” The outfit had been a success, apparently._ _

__“I feel like a celebratory moment like this needs some music,” Kate stated, “and I know _just_ the thing.” We followed her into the living room while she put on her ipod. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Britain’s greatest musical export.”_ _

__The four of us looked at each other, confused. “The Beatles?” I guessed._ _

__When Kate shook her head, Harry and Will threw out, “The Rolling Stones? The Who? Led Zeppelin? Rod Stewart?”_ _

__“Nope,” Kate shook her head again._ _

__Bianca smirked. “Oh, I know what this is.”_ _

__I was about to ask what was going on when “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls started playing. Throwing my hands up in the air, I let out a “woohoo!” and joined Bianca and Kate in dancing around like a bad 90s pop video. “All right, pick a Spice Girl,” Kate instructed. “I’m Sporty.”_ _

__“Baby!” Bianca called. “She was always my favorite. Roxy?”_ _

__“Posh, duh.”_ _

__“Which makes William, Scary.”_ _

__“What? Why do I have to be Scary?” he protested._ _

__“Because the only other options are Scary and Ginger,” Kate explained._ _

__“And Harry is obviously Ginger,” I said, dancing up on him and ruffling his hair._ _

__Harry swatted my hand away. “I’m _not_ being Ginger Spice.”_ _

__“ _Au contraire, mon amie,_ ” I teased him. “If I have to be Foxy Roxy, that makes you Ginger Spice.”_ _

__By the end of the day when Bianca and I left, Foxy Roxy had been shortened to Fox and Ginger Spice was simply Spice, and two nicknames were born. Right before we left, Harry asked, “So have you told your instructors that we’re coming to the show?”_ _

__Honestly, I answered, “I wasn’t sure you’d still want to after Underwear-Gate.”_ _

__Squinting, Harry tweaked my chin. “It’s gonna take more than a zebra striped thong to get rid of me.” When I blushed, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Oh, Roxy. Don’t worry so much.”_ _

__“When I figure out how to do that, I’ll let you know,” I told him. Still, the thought of telling Madam that my three famous friends would be coming to a show weighed heavy on my mind, and I was already stressing about it as Bianca and I left KP._ _


	13. Lady Bianca Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I was not a procrastinator. I never had been. When you have ballet four days a week, you simply don’t have time to procrastinate. You can’t put work off until the last minute because every minute is the last minute, so procrastinating was something that was new to me. To my pleasant surprise, I took to it like a fish to water. I was _fantastic_ at procrastinating! Bianca kept telling me that I was going to have to tell Madam that the Royals were coming to a show, at some point. These warnings rolled off my back. I never got worried about her reaction simply because I never thought of it. This method worked so well that I figured if it ain’t broke…

“We’re coming Christmas Eve,” Harry told me over the phone one night.

“Cool.” At that point, Bianca and I would already be done with exams and out of school. Since we still had shows, we were going to be staying at Bianca’s, which was just north of London.

“Are you going home for the holidays?” he asked. With a pang in my heart, I told him I wasn’t. “Why not?” he asked.

“We’ll still have shows up until the night of the 26th. So I can’t be home for Christmas.”

“And New Years?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I could, but the plane ride would be…a lot.” That was horrifying and embarrassing to admit. My face flamed up and tears sprung to my eyes at the thought that I wouldn’t be seeing my mom until summer break.

Harry paused. “So…so you’re not seeing your family at all over the holidays?”

“Nope,” I shook my head, hoping he couldn’t hear my sniffling, “but it’ll be fine. I’ve got B, and you’ll be around for some of it.”

Scoffing, Harry admitted, “I wish I’d be around for Christmas. Sandrigham’s always so deadly boring.” Harry had explained to me that Sandringham was the estate where the royals spent Christmas. Unlike Buckingham or Windsor or even KP, Sandringham was an entire estate, with a church where they all went for an annual Christmas service.

“Oh, Harry. It’s just church.”

“Said the atheist,” he muttered.

Rolling my eyes, I corrected him. “I’m not an atheist. I just don’t believe that God is some guy on a throne with a white beard.”

“Actually, I have it on good authority that He is,” Harry countered. He might have had some reason to complain, however, because Christmas at Sandringham wasn’t just church. Apparently the Royal Family Christmas was run like a branch of the military. Everyone had places to be at certain times and were not expected at all to be even a minute late. Harry's aunt Fergie once said she’d changed seven times in one day at Sandringham. Harry didn’t have to worry about that, which I thought he should have been grateful for. He could just focus on having fun hanging out with his family, eating, and hunting like they did every Christmas.

I thought that having an actual D-Day for when the royals were coming may have made my procrastination method vanish…but I was wrong! Bianca and I had exams to study for, and that was no picnic. For the week of our academic exams, we only had conditioning in the morning. It wasn’t rare for girls to stumble into the studio clutching coffee cups, dark circles under their eyes – clear signs of an all-nighter. There were one or two mornings where Bianca and I were those girls, and the week after we were done with our academic exams, we had our dance evaluations. That was when Madam took every individual student in private and made us demonstrate that we’d improved on our technique or other skills. In a lot of ways, this was way worse than the academic tests.

The grading scale on the performance tests was a little strange, and we didn’t find out right away. After we had tests, Madam would mail us our grades in conditioning, technique, and pas de deux. She wrote notes on things we’d done well and things we could improve upon on slips of paper. Judging on the color of your paper, you did very poorly or very well, or somewhere in the middle. There was no failing, really. The best color you could get was a yellow, blue was in the middle, and pink was the worst. If you got three pink papers, you were scheduled to meet with Madam to “discuss your options.”

“I have no other options,” I’d frantically hissed to Bianca after Madam had explained this to us.

“Me, either,” she’d answered, looking as panicked as I sounded. 

So while one week was spent trying to cram western civ, trig, biology, French, and themes in _Wuthering Heights_ into my brain, the next week was spent turning my feet out from the hips, sucking my abs in, holding my arms up for long periods of time and not letting them flap around. It was not spent worrying about Harry coming to _The Nutcracker_. By the time I was done feeling like Madam had poked and prodded at me like a science project in my technique final, I just wanted to pass out. “ _No_ , no, no,” Bianca insisted when I flopped down on my bed. “You’ve got to get ready for tonight, and then you’ve got to pack.”

“When do I get to sleep?” I whined.

“There’s no rest for the wicked, Roxy.”

I peeked at her out of one eye. “I’m not wicked.”

Bianca tipped her head back and laughed. “Ha! That is rich, Roxy, that is rich. Come on. Up you get.”

Groaning, I got off the bed and dragged myself to my desk. “Fine. I’ll do the dancing and the packing, but I’m not gonna like it.”

***

After the show that night, Bianca and I finished packing so that we could throw our stuff into her Mini and drive to her house in the morning. The “morning” ended up starting pretty late, since it was the first time in a long time that we could sleep without setting an alarm. We took our time, going out to a leisurely brunch with mimosas and all. “Don’t you want to get back to see your parents?” I asked her.

Bianca waved a hand. “I’ll have _plenty_ of time to see them over the holidays. Believe me, by New Years, I’ll be begging to get back to the dorm room.”

“I doubt _that_ will ever happen,” I grinned.

“Then you haven’t met my step-father,” Bianca deadpanned.

I knew that Bianca lived with her mom and her step-dad, and that her dad had passed away when she was too young to remember him. She had referenced her step-father in passing, and apparently wasn’t a huge fan, so this statement didn’t shock me. To be honest, I couldn’t blame her. My real dad was a total jerk already, so I’d been extremely glad that I’d gotten to bypass the awkwardness of my mom dating again. 

When we’d eaten our way through a full English breakfast - which was my new favorite meal consisting of fried bread, sausages, beans, eggs, and roasted tomatoes and mushrooms - we got into the Mini and drove out of London. “I’ve never left the city,” I admitted as the highway blurred past.

Bianca shrugged. “KP isn’t _really_ the city.” When I gave her a quizzical sideways glance, she laughed and explained herself. “Well you know what I mean. It’s like its own little fortress.”

I agreed and leaned my head back against the seat. Shutting my eyes and feeling full with a tummy full of English breakfast, I fell back asleep. When Bianca woke me up, we were crunching up a gravel driveway. The sun was shining in my eyes so I squinted and blinked. The driveway was lined with perfectly trimmed and shaped trees. In front of us a house appeared, looking tiny at first, but as we got closer, my jaw dropped. “ _Bianca_! You live at Pemberley!”

She chuckled. “Well, not exactly.” Okay, she was right, not _exactly_ , but Mr. Darcy wouldn’t have looked down his nose at this place. It was an entire estate made out of stone, almost like one of Harry's residences, with a balcony on the second floor and wide windows. I could count at least four chimneys coming out of the roof. Around the back of the house was a huge yard, and I could make out a tennis court and a stable.

“Holy crap, B,” I breathed out.

“I _told_ you, I kind of am someone,” she reminded me, using the phrase she’d used the night we met Harry. When my shock didn’t wear off, she explained, “My dad was Earl Winchester.”

“I thought your dad’s name was Paul.”

“My step-dad is Paul. My dad’s name was Martin. Earl is just the title.”

“Earl of Winchester?” I asked, still incredibly confused.

“No, just Earl Winchester. Honestly Roxy, you’re like a Martian.”

I laughed and then asked what that meant. Apparently it was a title that was inherited through men in the family. It also meant that, formally, Bianca was Lady Bianca Winchester, which I thought was pretty cool. The title could be traced back to King James the…something. I assumed that was how Bianca had so much money – from the estate over time. It was why she’d been able to go to those nice schools and how she’d met Harry. I guessed all rich people in England just knew each other. It wasn’t that big of a place.

When she pulled around the wide circular front driveway, on top of the curved stone steps leading up to the house, stood two gorgeous people who looked like they’d stepped out of a J. Crew add. The woman was slender and blonde, like Bianca, and the man was muscular and tall with salt and pepper hair. They both held drinks in their hands that I recognized as hot toddies. I wasn’t one to judge someone for drinking early, and from the way her mom and step-dad looked I definitely understood from where Bianca got her flawless taste.

“Hi Mum!” she beamed, taking the wide front steps two at a time to meet her out front.

“Hello darling,” her mother greeted her with a warm hug before holding her by the shoulders to get a good look at her. “Oh, you look thin. Have you been eating right? I should call the salon. Your hair has gotten so long! Doesn’t she look thin, Paul?”

Paul gave Bianca a kind smile, but she just rolled her eyes at him and changed the subject. “Mum, you remember Roxy, right?”

“Well if we didn’t we’d know who she was now,” Paul nudged Mrs. Winchester with his elbow.

Bianca’s mom smiled at me. “Of course we’ve seen Roxy all over the magazines. Causing quite the stir lately, aren’t you?” she asked me, pinching my shoulder playfully.

“Oh, um…not intentionally,” I answered her.

“Well come in, and you girls can tell us _all_ about school,” Bianca’s mom ushered us in the front door.

“Shouldn’t we get our bags?” I asked.

Her mom waved a hand. “Don’t worry, darling. The staff will get it.”

Feeling a twinge of unreasonable guilt, I remembered William’s request to use the “staff” after Thanksgiving dinner. Who was I to make a staff member carry my bag? By the time I thought to offer to take it up myself, we were already sitting in a room that looked like it was decorated by set designers for a _Masterpiece Theater_ segment.

Bianca’s parents rang for tea (because apparently everyone I knew could do that) and they asked us a bunch of predictable parent questions. Did we like school, how were our classes, was Madam strict, did we keep our rooms clean, were we eating well. Aside from the small comments they’d made outside, her parents didn’t bring up the Harry thing at all, which I was grateful for. Bianca was the one to mention our trips to KP. “Bianca Marianna Winchester, you had better be on your very best behavior.”

“I _am_ , Mum.” She went on to explain to them that we were all exchanging gifts. After she told her mom what she’d gotten them all, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Guess what _Roxy_ got them?” Bianca pronounced my name in a way that was usually only used for Judas, Brutus, and Cassius.

Her parents gave me a blank look and Bianca looked to me to explain. “I said they could come to a show.”

“Well what’s wrong with that, dear?” her mom asked.

“After all, it is called the _Royal_ Ballet,” Paul mimicked Harry’s statement.

“I don’t want William and Kate to see me in a tutu!” Bianca explained.

“Well I don’t want them to, either, but it’s what they asked for,” I insisted. I kept to myself the second part of that statement, which was that I was too broke to get them a _real_ gift. “I don’t let Harry see the shows,” I explained to Bianca’s parents. “It calls a lot of attention to us and…it’s weird.”

“It must be quite odd,” Bianca’s mum agreed with me, “and for an American, no less.”

“It is!” I insisted. “Harry and Will and Kate are all so casual, but I still don’t understand all the rules.”

Paul took a sip of his drink. “Curtsey. Curtsey to _everyone_ , and don’t touch _anyone_.”

Those rules sounded simple enough. Before long, Bianca and I had to excuse ourselves and get ready for the show. “By the way, don’t forget to talk to Madam about the Royals coming to the show.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “I kind of forgot about it.”

While I pulled up my tights, Bianca gave me a cheesy smile. “I know. That’s why I’m here to remind you.”

“Thanks B,” I grumbled and got ready for the show.

*** 

Since we weren’t in class anymore, I had fewer opportunities to talk to Madam. I figured I should probably get it over with after the show that night. Bianca came with me for moral support...and because I made her. “Good luck,” she wished as I knocked on the door to Madam’s office at the Opera House. She told me to come in and I did, timidly opening the door and poking my head in.

“ _Bonjour Madam._ ”

“ _Bonjour Roxanna._ You had a good night tonight,” she praised me. 

I thanked her and wrung my hands together. “Um, Madam, I just thought that I should let you know that Prince Harry, Prince William, and Kate Middleton will all be attending the show on Christmas Eve.”  
Without looking up from her desk (where she was scribbling down notes on pink papers…so many pink papers…) she told me, “I know.”

I blinked. “You…you do?”

“Yes, Roxanna, I do.”

“Oh.” That solved that, then. “Just out of curiosity, _how_ do you know?”

Obviously frustrated, Madam set her pen down and looked up at me. “Because, Roxanna, Clarence House called to tell Monsieur and myself. _Two_ weeks ago.” _Oh, crap._ “Did _you_ know about this two weeks ago?”

“ _Oui, Madam,_ ” I admitted, ashamed.

“And why did you not mention anything until tonight?”

Oh! Okay, I had a good reason for this one! “I was just so busy with finals,” I offered by way of explanation.

“And I suppose it would have taken more than five minutes out of your,” she paused, gave me a once over, and continued with, “ _busy schedule_ to tell me that two princes and a soon-to-be princess would be coming to the Opera House.” I only gulped. Madam blew out a frustrated sigh and went back to writing out her reviews. “Never mind, Roxanna. This is not the first time royals have come to the Opera House. It is called the Royal Ballet.”

Okay, I was getting sick of that phrase. “Right. I just thought, since there seemed to be a problem last time, that I would tell you.”

“If that’s all, you may be dismissed,” Madam brushed me off.

I forced a smile out at her, which quickly disappeared once I was out of her office. Bianca let me fume down the hallway for a while before we got into her car. I didn’t want to give anyone the chance to overhear us and sell the story. Once I’d slammed the door shut, I clenched my teeth and let out an exaggerated half-groan, half-scream. “Didn’t go well?” Bianca asked carefully once I was done.

“I cannot win with that woman!” I shouted.

“Well that’s not true. She seemed to be a big fan of yours when you were Foxy Roxy,” she pointed out.

“So the only way I can get her to be nice to me is if shitty things happen?” I asked, still shouting and gesturing wildly with my hands. “Because I’m not just going to give Piers Morgan pictures of me in the nude so that she’ll take pity on me.”

“What exactly happened?” Bianca asked, trying to calm me down.

“She was pissed that I didn’t tell her earlier, and then when I did tell her she said that I was being ridiculous because of course the royals have been toI the ballet before. So if that’s the case then why was she so pissed the last time Harry showed up for _Cinderella_?” I demanded.

Bianca shook her head. “Why does she have to be such a bitch all the time?”

“Thank you!”

“Well, don’t worry about that. We’re exchanging gifts with the Waleses in a couple of days. It’ll be fun,” she reminded me.

“You call handing over cheesy homemade gifts to people who are richer than God, fun?” I asked. “It’s going to be humiliating.”

“You didn’t have to make them gifts. You let them come to the show,” she pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t want to give them nothing,” I mumbled. Either way I was going to feel stupid. My optioned were giving the Royals my cheesy homemade gifts or letting them come see me dance around in a tutu for a few hours, which they were going to do, gift or no gift. My stomach clenched with anxiety as I thought about what they had gotten for me. Thoughts of William handing me a diamond encrusted, newest edition ipad made me queasy, although Harry had promised that it was nothing extravagant. That didn't necessarily make me feel better - after all, it was all relative. What counted as extravagant to me may not have seemed so to the Windsors. I just had no idea what to expect, and that didn’t make me feel great.


	14. All I Want For Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

On weekdays we only had the night shows, so we decided that on Christmas Eve (which was on a Thursday this year), Bianca and I would head over to KP before our show and exchange gifts. We stuffed them into the back seat of her car and drove over the gravel of her long driveway. “Roxy, are you going to be shaking your leg up and down like that for the entire drive?” she asked.

“I’m sorry! I’m nervous,” I confessed, although Bianca already knew this.

“It’s just Christmas. It’s _presents_. What have you got to be nervous about?”

Shrugging, I told her, “I don’t know. I always get nervous when I’m going to give people presents.”

“Are you nervous about giving me my present?” she asked, nudging my elbow.

I shook my head and smirked. “No way. Because I know if you hate it, you’ll at least pretend to like it.”

Laughing, Bianca agreed, “You’re probably right.”

We got to KP and were greeted with warm hugs and eggnog by the Royals. “Hello you,” Harry hugged me. His body felt warm and I wanted to snuggle into his soft navy sweater.

“Hey,” I smiled up at him. 

“We’re all looking forward to the show tonight,” he assured me.

I blew out a breath. “Great. Don’t remind me.”

“Presents! Presents!” Bianca clapped her hands together.

“Okay, we get it Bianca. You want your presents,” William joked, and we headed into the living room. Harry and I sat next to each other on the sofa and I admired all of the gifts that Bianca and the Royals exchanged, even though I knew what she got them already. For Will and Kate, she got some new items that you would get a normal couple from their wedding registry. They hadn’t registered anywhere, for obvious reasons, so she’d gotten them a blanket embroidered with, “The Walses” and their wedding date, and an album for their wedding pictures. For Harry, she gave him a flask engraved with the Windsor crest, which he appreciated fondly. I was relieved to find that the Royals, having promised nothing extravagant, stuck to their word. Kate got Bianca a pair of shoes identical to ones of hers that she had admired. William and Harry’s gifts went together, as sort of a ballet kit. Harry gave her a dance bag with a Degas painting screen-printed on it. William got her a beautiful sea foam green wrap sweater and a matching ballet skirt. I was surprised that the boys had gotten her such a great gift, actually.

“All right, my turn,” I proclaimed. After seeing Bianca’s gifts I felt better about giving them mine. Reaching into my duffel bag full of goodies, I pulled out Kate’s gift first and handed it to her before doling out Bianca’s, William’s, and Harry’s. 

“Roxy, you didn’t have to get us anything,” Kate said. “We were happy just to come to the show.”

“Well, I’m really good at presents,” I told them, “and I would have felt like a jerk showing up here empty-handed.”

“So that’s three things you’re good at,” Harry pointed out, harkening back to our Thanksgiving conversation. “Cooking, dancing, and presenti-ng.”

Chuckling, I nodded, “Yeah, I guess that’s the word for it. Present-ing.”

“Well mine’s obviously the best,” William decided.

“What makes you so sure?” Kate asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gesturing to his gift, he said, “Because it’s the biggest.”

“Good things come in small packages, Wills,” Harry reminded him.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to feel better about your small package, Harry,” Will smirked. 

I laughed and Harry gave me a scathing look. Clearing the giggles out of my throat, I instructed, “Okay, okay, unwrap!”

Kate opened her gift first and smiled immediately. “Oh my gosh! Roxy! Did you make this?” she asked, fingering the sequined poppy pin I’d wrapped. When I nodded, she continued, “This is fantastic.” Will leaned over to see, noting that he was mightily impressed by the pin. I’d made it with red sequined fabric and a small black piece in the middle. In the center I’d sewn on patches so it said, _11-11_ , for the Remembrance Day poppies she’d told me about. “Thank you, this is great,” she told me appreciatively, giving me a hug.

“Mine next,” William said, “and expectations are high, Roxy, since Kate’s gift was so good.” Like a child, he impatiently tore the paper off his present. When he finally looked down at what I’d gotten him, his mouth hung open, mimicking a flounder. Finally, he looked up at me and asked, “Roxanna…where did you find this?”

“In a vintage store,” I told him. The vintage store was a consignment shop actually, but I thought “vintage store” sounded better. “I got the frame separate.”

“What is it, Willie?” Kate asked, sneaking a peek over his shoulder. When she saw it, she cocked her head to one side and let out an, “Aw.” Of course, she didn’t fully understand the significance of it, because she hadn’t been there when he and I had the conversation in which he’d recited this saying to me. When Bianca and Harry requested, William turned the gift around to show them the slightly faded and worn Union Jack, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” poster I’d gotten him. Had it been in mint condition, it would have been wildly expensive, but since it was a bit distressed it hadn’t cost too much. I’d gotten a distressed wood frame that also looked vintage to put the poster in.

Harry turned to me, both surprised and confused. “That’s bloody perfect,” he said. “You’re good at this. You should be a professional gift buyer.”

“That’s not a thing,” I pointed out.

“Sure it is. A personal shopper. That’s a job,” Will pointed out. And then, when Kate glared at him he offered, “Not that I ever use them.”

“Okay now me,” Bianca insisted. Once the wrapping paper was pulled off from around her small box, she opened it and frowned. Then, pulling out the locket, she examined it before seeing that it opened. Once she did, she grinned. “Aw, Rox. This is so sweet.” The silver locket opened on one side to reveal a Shakespeare quote, “Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.” On the other side was a picture of Bianca and I, hugging and holding bouquets after a _Cinderella_ performance. Once she showed it off to Harry and Will and Kate, she slipped it around her neck.

“All right, pressure is on, DeLaSearle,” Harry jokingly warned me, "and this is an odd shape, so I’m very curious,” he added as he unwrapped his gift. Once he did, he, like Will, just sat there for a second, looking baffled. Harry’s gift was a Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a snowflake. I’d made it mostly out of cardstock and glitter, but had left some small holes, like windows, and stuck pictures of us inside them. There were pictures of us from the Eton Old Boys game, pictures from our public outing around London, one from the Tusk Trust polo match, and some from the Arsenal versus Ation Villa game. “Roxanna. This is…” He shrugged and then offered, “You definitely should have been a professional present-er.”

I laughed and he hugged me, thanking me again. “Now it’s your turn to be dazzled by our wonderful gifts,” Kate told me. “Of course, they’re not at all as heartfelt as yours, but I think you’ll like them.”

“I’m sure I will,” I agreed.

Bianca gave me hers first, telling me that I wouldn’t be nearly as impressed by hers as I was by the Royals’. I doubted this would be the case, but unwrapped hers first all the same. It was a bag from Harrod’s, so I was pretty excited. When I opened it, I laughed, finding a wide, floppy hat, a scarf, and a pair of huge sunglasses. I’d frequently borrowed all three items from Bianca when we left campus to hide from the press. “These will come in handy, I’m sure,” I thanked her with a hug.

“Here’s mine,” William said, handing over a small black box that obviously contained jewelry. I could tell because he hadn’t bothered to wrap it, and on top in gold letters the word, “Swarovski” was written. There was just a small gold bow on the top. 

“William, I told you nothing big,” I reminded him, feeling hesitant about opening his present. I’d gotten the heir a gift from a thrift store and he got me something from Swarovski. Great.

“It isn’t anything big, I promise,” he told me.

With a sigh, I opened the box and immediately smiled. “Aw,” I let out, lifting up the necklace. On a thin, silver chain was a charm with pink crystals in the shape of ballet shoes. “It’s so cute! Thank you!” I hugged him, wondering if he’d gotten such spot on gifts because of a personal shopper, before Kate handed me her gift. “Uh, is it money?” I jokingly asked as she handed me a heavy white envelope. Bianca gasped and I looked at her. “What?”

She gulped and looked from me to Kate and back again. “Um…nothing. Just open it.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, slipping my index finger under the flap. I pulled out a glossy copy of the couple’s engagement photo, which was cute, but I still didn’t really get it. Not until I pulled out the second thick piece of paper. On the top was an upraised gold crown and “E II R.” “Kate,” I breathed out, my hands shaking as I held the envelope back at her. “I can’t take this.”

“Well I’m not taking it back,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

My eyes stung with tears as I looked down at the card. Printed in formal italics it said, “The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by The Queen to invite,” and then in a gap Kate had personally written, “Miss Roxanna DeLaSearle,” then the print continued, “to the Marriage of His Royal Highness Prince William of Wales, K.G. with Miss Catherine Middleton at Westminster Abbey on Friday, 29th April, 2011 at 11:00 am.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Kate told me gently. “I just wanted to formally invite you.”

Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I wiped under my eyes before getting up to hug Kate. “Thank you so much,” I sighed.

“It’s no problem,” she shrugged. “You’re my friend. I want you there.”

When I was sitting back down next to Harry, I turned to him. “So. Pressure’s on, Wales,” I repeated his own words back to him.

His eyebrows furrowed and he drummed his fingers over his lips. “Hm…I think not.”

“What?” I asked. 

“Well, I don’t want to follow that act,” he gestured to Kate. “Besides, I think you’ve had enough excitement for today.”

“But…but…” I sputtered out. “But it’s Christmas Eve! You have to give me my Christmas present tonight!”

Laughing, Harry noted, “Well that’s quite a change from you wanting no Christmas present at all.”

“I can’t believe you’re seriously doing this to me,” I shook my head in wonder. Then, a thought occurred to me. “Oh my God. You forgot to get me a present, didn’t you?”

Harry looked shocked and offended. “What? No! Absolutely not! And I’m hurt that you would even think such a thing.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, like that would be so out of character of you.”

“Harry, you’re being quite rude,” William pointed out.

“Yeah. Especially after Roxy got us all such wonderful presents,” Kate piled on.

“I didn’t say I’m not giving her anything ever. I’m just saying I’ll give it to her later tonight, after the show,” he pointed out.

I glared at him, crossed my arms over my chest, and pouted. “You’re mean and I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” he called my bluff. “Now stop pouting.” In order to get me to follow this order, he pinched my bottom lip, which I was sticking out exaggeratedly. I squealed and yanked my head back and he laughed. We all talked and admired each other’s gifts for a bit before Bianca and I had to make our way over to the Opera House. 

“We’ll see you there!” I called out to them as we left. When we got into the car, I turned to B. “That was weird, right?”

Shrugging, she said, “Not really. I mean, he’s right. There’s no way he can top a royal wedding invite.” Then, after a beat she asked, “You didn’t get a plus one by any chance, did you?”

***

As soon as the finale music ended that night, I took hold of Bianca’s hand to go out for the curtain call. The long line of flowers sashayed out on stage and I heard catcalls erupting from the Royal Box. Trying to control my laughter, I looked up to the box, partially blinded by the spotlights. Regardless, I could make out the outline of Will and Kate clapping and standing in the box. I could also see that Harry was out of his seat, applauding emphatically. “Roxy!” he called out. “Yeah Roxy!” I felt my cheeks get red and was glad that I was already wearing a ridiculous amount of blush. Beside me, Bianca giggled for me and we laughed freely when the next line of dancers came out to take their bows.

Madam was waiting in the wings with her classic scowl on her face. As I’d predicted, even with fair warning of the Royals’ arrival she was still out of sorts. Everything with the press had gone fairly well. I wasn’t sure who else of importance was in the audience, but the red carpet had been rolled out while the other girls and I got ready. If I hadn’t been told about it, I wouldn’t have even known it had happened. Ironically, it was done with much less drama than it had been the last time Harry had shown up at the Opera House. Still, Madam disapproved. “Roxanna. Your _friends_ wish to visit with you. Miss White has kindly offered up her dressing room.”

My eyes widened. Victoria White was letting _me_ into _her_ dressing room? Oh dear…I was going to be in trouble after this one. Turning to Bianca, I assured her that I’d meet back up with her in the corps dressing room and followed Madam. The wings of the Opera House were drafty and I shivered, despite the fact that I was covered in a sheen layer of sweat. The lights made the stage feel like the center of the sun and the contrast was shocking. Madam stopped in front of a black door with a gold nameplate on it. Inscribed on it was, “Miss Victoria White,” in loopy cursive. Even the sign was intimidating. 

When Madam opened the door, I had to gasp. The room was huge, and covered in flowers. There were so many flowers that they were giving off a wonderful fragrance. There was a bouquet of roses on the dressing table in front of the mirror, and a huge stand-up laurel with a congratulatory ribbon on it. There were lilies and more roses and tulips and babies breath. There was a vanity and a soft, leather couch and one of those folding screens to change behind. There were three extra pairs of pointe shoes and two pink tutus. “This is amazing,” I told Madam.

With her mouth in a terse line, Madam placed her hands on her hips. “Well Roxanna, if you keep up your good work, you may be able to have this dressing room to yourself one day.” Before I could respond to this oddly delivered compliment, Madam brushed past me and out of the room. While I waited for the Wales brothers and Kate, I turned to look at myself in the mirror. Suddenly I wished that Harry wasn’t going to see me with a full face of make up. Figuring that Victoria wasn’t going to miss it if I dabbed a little cold cream on my face, I swiped off some of my blue eye shadow and pink blush. My hair crackled as I took out the hairnet and bobby pins that were holding my bun in place and ran my hands through it. I felt like I looked slightly more like myself when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and barely had time to say hello before the three of them burst into the room with a bottle of champagne, Kate and Harry talking animatedly about how well I’d done.

“You were beautiful, Roxy! You looked amazing!”

“The best dancer in the corps, no doubt.”

“If the company doesn’t hire you in three years, they’re absolutely mad.”

“You could dance for Moscow.”

I giggled and blushed as William handed me a flute of champagne. He kissed me on the cheek and congratulated me, in a more normal tone than his brother and his fiancé. “You were beautiful Roxanna.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. 

Kate looked around the room and blinked. “Wow. This is quite a nice dressing room.”

“I know, it’s for the prima ballerina,” I told her. 

When I bit my lip, she could tell that there was something else I wanted to say. “What’s up?” she pressed.

“Madam just said something weird before you guys came in. She said if I keep up my good work, I could have this dressing room one day.”

“Well that’s a good thing,” she insisted.

Shrugging, I told her, “I don’t know, she sounded kind of pissed when she said it. Anyway, let’s not worry about it.” I sipped some champagne while Harry asked Will and Kate if he and I could have a moment alone. The two of them left the room, with Kate making eyes at me. I blushed and shut the door behind them. 

“Right. Are you ready for your present now?”

What with having to actually perform, I had nearly forgotten Harry’s odd refusal to give me my Christmas present. “Oh yeah! Hand it over, Wales.”

Harry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. I relaxed a little, glad that it wasn’t anything big. On the envelope, Harry had written, Fox. My mind suddenly flashed back to a card on top of white flowers, with Mummy written on the front. My heart panged and I shook the memory out of my head before running my finger under the flap of the envelope. When I reached in, there was a thick piece of cardstock. I pulled it out and gasped. “Harry, no.”

“Yes.”

“No! I can’t take this Harry, it’s too much!”

“It’s not,” he shook his head. “It’s just enough.” In the envelope was a ticket to leave Heathrow airport and go home for New Year’s Eve. “And you haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” he told me, pulling a second envelope out of his jacket pocket. When I opened it, there was another ticket. 

It took a minute for me to realize what he meant. “You’re…you’re coming with me?” I blinked up at him.

Harry nodded. “I’ll be at Sandringham tonight and tomorrow, and then I’ll pick you up and we’ll fly back across the pond so you can celebrate the New Year with your family.”

My heart warmed and I threw my arms around his neck. “Harry, thank you. This is the best Christmas gift ever.” I couldn’t help the tears that were stinging my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I looked up at him through my eyelashes. 

“Better than an invite to the wedding?” he asked.

“Hm…well, I’ll have to think about that.”

Harry chuckled and then informed me that there was protocol that had to be followed when members of the royal family flew on a commercial airline. He would have someone from Clarence House call me to let me know when they’d be picking me up to drive me to the airport. My stomach had butterflies in it at the thought of getting to go home. “Thank you so much, Spice,” I hugged him again.

Harry squeezed me back and murmured, “I love you, Fox,” into my hair.

It would have frightened me more, but I knew what Harry meant. He meant the same thing I had meant when, after the Bond Fest I’d told him I was glad to “have people.” I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way Harry, as well as his brother and Kate, had just become people in my life that I couldn’t live without. “I love you, too,” I promised, and wiped at my eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Roxanna.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” And we just stood there for a second, beaming at each other, giggling for no reason. I was happy.


	15. Home Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Oh my God,” Bianca marveled at the tickets. “BA _first class_?”

I laughed. “That’s the part you’re impressed with?” I asked. “Not the part where he surprised me with tickets to go home so I can celebrate with my family? I think you’re missing the point a little, B.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow and handed the envelope back over to me. “I think _you’re_ missing the point a little, Rox.”

After stuffing the envelope in my purse, I gave her a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

“Roxy, he’s not giving these tickets to you for free. He’s going to expect you to put out.” Before I could protest, Bianca raised her hands in self-defense. “Okay, okay. You won’t have to sleep with him, but this isn’t just a nice blouse, Roxanna. This is a trip across the Atlantic Ocean, and you think it doesn’t mean anything?”

“Harry and I are just friends, Bianca. That’s all,” I reminded her with a stern expression. 

“And the last I heard, you said you two would talk about it over break,” Bianca reminded me. I cringed, thinking of the messy kiss Harry had planted on my mouth in the ballroom at KP. “So do you think he’ll bring it up during the trip?”

“I hope not,” I blurted out. It was just the first thing that had come to my mind. 

Sitting down on her bed, Bianca hugged a pillow to her chest. “I don’t get you, Rox. I mean, you clearly have feelings for each other. What’s the big deal?”

“ _This_ is the big deal,” I pointed to Bianca’s computer. There were already pictures of Harry, Will, and Kate heading into the Opera House at Covent Garden, with headlines reading, “All He Wants for Christmas is Roxy!” 

Bianca shrugged. “Exactly. All the papers are already saying it. You may as well just go ahead and boff.”

“First of all, no one says ‘boff.’ Second, that’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.” Feeling defeated, I flopped down in a cushy chair in B’s room. “Madam is already questioning my commitment, and we’re not even dating. What is she going to think when I’m taking time out of my day to pick out funny hats to wear to polo matches, or planning a royal wedding?”

Rolling her eyes, Bianca held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. You’re not planning any royal wedding, you’re just _thinking_ about _maybe_ having a boyfriend.”  
“Maybe after this year, if Madam understands my commitment at the end of spring semester…”

Before I could finish my thought, Bianca had sucked in a dramatic gasp. My eyes widened as I gave her a horrified look. “Roxanna,” she emphasized the last part of my name. “You cannot do that to Harry. You can’t expect him to wait while you just lead him on!”

“I’m not leading him on!” I defended myself, quite frankly surprised by Bianca’s reaction.

“Yes, you are. You need to tell him where you stand, Roxy, this is just wrong.”

Later that night when I went to bed, I sort of saw where she was coming from, and she was sort of right. Damn.

***

Christmas was bittersweet. I was sad to be away from my mom, but excited to see her over New Year’s. It was tough to talk to her on the phone and not say anything, but Harry reminded me that the surprise would be worth it. “I miss you, honey.”

“I miss you, too, Mom,” I told her, biting my lip and grinning. My phone beeped and I looked at the screen. I was getting a call from a protected number. The first couple of times I’d gotten these calls, I’d ignored them, only to receive an annoyed voicemail from Harry insisting that I pick up the phone. “Oh, I have to go, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay Rock,” she said, using the family nickname for me, “Merry Christmas.”

I clicked over to Harry. “Hey.”

“How did you know it was me this time?”   
“I’m just really smart. Duh.”

“Oh, of course, how could I forget? Let alone the dozens of times I had to remind you to pick up.” I giggled. “Have you talked to your mum?”

“Yeah. It was hard not telling her,” I admitted.

“She’ll be delighted, I’m sure,” Harry said. “Have you had a good Christmas?”

“I’ve had a lazy Christmas,” I admitted. It had mostly consisted of watching Christmas television specials and eating pastries. “How’s yours going?”

Harry groaned. “I had to go to church with Gran.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” I pretended to pity him. “And did you receive all the spoils of a king?”

He chuckled. “No, for Christmas we just give each other joke gifts.” I was about to ask what he got when he threw out, “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” It was true, and it sort of just fell out of my mouth.

I could hear Harry smile for a second before he continued. “So someone from Clarence House will be at Bianca’s to pick you up on the 27th. How do you want to get from the airport to your house?”  
Biting my lip, I thought about it. I’d always taken the NJ Transit when I needed to get to the airport, but the thought of Harry on the Transit, with its orangey-brown vinyl seats and the smell of toilet cleaner somehow didn’t sit well with me. “We’ll probably want to get a car,” I told him, “and someone to drive it. You can’t rent a car until you’re twenty-five in the states.”

“Really?” Harry wondered. “While we’re there, will you teach me how to drive on the wrong side of the road?”

“It’s the right side of the road actually, but yes,” I promised. My stomach flipped again with excitement. “I can’t wait to see my mom.” Suddenly I felt incredibly guilty. Harry would never get to utter that sentence again.  
“I can’t wait to see _you_.” I blushed, thankful that we were having this conversation over the phone. “Though I wouldn't take it personally. I’d be happy to see the Loch Ness Monster as long as it wasn’t a member of my family.”

“Well I think Nessie actually is a member of your family. So…bad luck there.” We made each other laugh for a few more minutes before I hung up. Bianca just gave me a knowing look before reminding me that we had to leave to go to the Opera House soon. I ignored her pointed looks and got my costume on. 

*** 

The 26th was our last show, and it was actually a little sad. Mostly it was a huge relief, but there was also just a twinge of sadness at the fact that Christmas was really over. I’d been looking forward to it for weeks, and now it was gone. That feeling, of course, lasted for about five minutes. For the past several years I had felt that disappointed feeling at the holiday not living up to my expectations. It hadn’t been everything I’d hoped it would be since I was about seven. This year, though, Christmas had finally again been exactly as amazing as I’d hoped. In fact, it had blown my hopes out of the water. Plus, I had a ton to look forward to, including a trip home to see my mom and my family, and New Year’s with Harry. 

When we got back to Bianca’s after our last show, she and I changed into pajamas and ate leftover pastries and sweets from Christmas morning while watching _Notting Hill_. “I’ve never seen a blue door,” I noted, biting down into a square of fudge.

“That’s because there were too many tourists knocking on it,” she answered, sounding as exhausted as I felt.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yup.” 

This was about all the conversation we had the energy for. Harry texted me something about tomorrow and I sent him a one-word answer back. Bianca and I both passed out before Hugh Grant could even win Julia Roberts’s heart back in a press conference. 

The next morning, I was re-packing my bag to go back home. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me here with Mum and Paul,” Bianca lamented.

Shoving her Christmas present into my suitcase, I admitted, “I don’t know why you hate him so much. He seems perfectly nice.”

“Yeah, he’s good at coming off that way when he wants to,” she muttered. Then she quickly changed the subject. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

I laughed at her whining. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something. You lived for eighteen years without me.”

Bianca scoffed. “Well yeah, but I’ve literally spent every day for the past four months with you. I’m going to have terrible separation anxiety.”

I took a pause from my packing to smile at her. “Aw. B, that was kind of sweet.”

Not one to be caught being sweet, Bianca crossed her arms with a “hmph.” “Don’t take it personal. You could easily have been any of those other sloany slags at school, and then she’d be dating Prince Harry, and not you.”

“I’m _not_ dating Prince Harry,” I reminded her once again, "and that is so obviously false, as I am not a sloany slag.”

Smirking, Bianca asked, “Do you know what ‘sloany’ or ‘slag’ means?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. It means preppy, and a slag is a whore.”

“Very good. I hate to admit it but I think you’re right. Harry probably wouldn’t have dated any of those girls. I mean, have you talked to them before? They’re awful.”

Surprised, I asked, “You’ve talked to them before?”

“A few,” she shrugged, "but they’re cows. Which is why we’re our only friends.”

I laughed and zipped up my suitcase as Bianca’s mom knocked on the door. “Roxanna dear,” she poked her head in. “There’s a man here for you.”

I thanked her and she closed the door. Turning to Bianca, I asked, “So are you going to give me a hug goodbye or are you too pissed at me for that?”

“Of course, you slag,” she smirked, standing up and giving me a hug. “Have fun. Tell your mum I say hi. Use protection.”

“Bianca!” I laughed, but I wasn’t wholly surprised. She walked with me out to the front door, where Paolo was waiting for me. “Hey Paolo,” I greeted him with a warm kiss on both sides of his face. “Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Roxy,” he said back, taking my bag. I thanked the Winchesters for letting me stay with them, gave Bianca another hug, and climbed into the back seat of the blacked out car with Harry. 

Before I could stop myself, I was wrapping my arms around him, breathing him in. Cigarette smoke, whiskey, cologne, and expensive fabric. Mm…When I pulled away I took him in, seeing if anything had changed in the past three days. Pleased that it hadn’t, I beamed at him. “Hi.”

“Hello you,” he tweaked my chin. “Miss me?”

Blushing, I shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Are you ready?” Harry asked.

“So ready,” I informed him. “I love airports.”

Frowning, Harry repeated, “You love airports?”

“Yup.”

“Roxanna, no one loves airports.”

“That’s insane. There’s no place on this earth more fascinating than an airport. Everyone’s going places and in a hurry and there are so many _things_. Heathrow is the best, obviously, because it has the mini-Harrod’s, and then you get on the plane, and you sit there and watch movies while people bring you food.”

Harry was at a complete loss. At this point, he was trying to reason with me, while I was being completely unreasonable. “But…you can watch movies any time you like.”

I laughed at his simple-minded ways. “Oh Henry,” I shook my head, using his actual first name. Harry was a nickname his mother had given him, more or less in defiance of his father insisting that he be named Henry. “You simply don’t understand. When I’m watching movies at home in the dorm or at KP, in the back of my mind is always, ‘I should be studying, or working out, or practicing, but on an airplane, I can’t do any of those things, except maybe study, and exams are over now so I don’t have to.”  
“So you’re saying that the only place you can relax is careening at several thousand meters in the air faster than the speed of sound in a huge steel box that can fall out of the sky at any moment.”

“Exactly.”

“You are sick, Roxanna. You are a sick, sick woman.” I was laughing as we pulled into the British Airways terminal at Heathrow. “Right, here’s how it works,” Harry told me. “We get through security, with Paolo, of course. They’ll let us go to the front of the line.”

“They make _you_ go through security?” I asked in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well yes, but that’s that. Anyway, we can go to the mini-Harrod’s if you like, or whatever. Then the whole plane boards and we get on last. Like, right before they’re about to take off, we get on.”

“Why?”

“Because. That’s how it works.”

“But why?”

“I’ve no idea why, Roxanna, why don’t I ring up Gran and ask her if she knows why this has been the procedure since the beginning of commercial air flight?”

“Why don’t you?”

Grinning, Harry shook his head and got out of the car. I followed his lead and was pleasantly surprised to find no shouting photographers. Paolo trailed us, making sure our bags were checked apart from the other passengers. I could only imagine the employees who would be terminated at BA if Harry’s bags were lost. I overheard him tell the desk agent that passengers DeLaSearle and Wales were checking in. She looked completely unfazed as she patched through to the attendants at the gate on a walkie-talkie, telling them the same thing. Harry took my hand and we made our way over to the long security line. Instantly, the barriers directing the line into a snake shape were pulled aside by security agents. “Excuse us, move aside please,” one of them called out. I expected groans by everyone in line, but the excitement of seeing Harry trumped any annoyance they may have felt. I placed my purse on the conveyor belt, took off my shoes, and stepped through the metal detector, as Harry had done before me.

When we came up clean, we slipped our shoes back on and I turned to Harry. “Mini-Harrod’s?”

“Mini-Harrods,” he agreed with a nod.

When we got there, Paolo stood a respectful distance off while I picked up some things for my mom and Grace and her family… and myself. 

“I thought you already got them presents,” Harry told me as I paid at the register. The cashier tried to bite back her grin, but couldn’t.

“I did,” I nodded, and then added, “I told you. I love airports. Unnecessary shopping is part of it.”

When we got to the first class lounge, a man in a navy British Airways suit told us that he’d let us know when it was time for us to board. Harry thanked him while I looked around the lounge in awe. It was like an entire restaurant, plus a bar and spa all in one room. We decided to skip the massages and sat at the bar for drinks. I got a glass of wine and Harry some sort of expensive whiskey neat. The bartender nearly dropped the entire bottle, but Harry either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “I can’t wait to sleep on the plane. And watch movies. And eat.”

Chuckling again, Harry placed a hand on the small of my back and leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek. My face flushed roughly the color of a lobster. “You’re adorable.” Okay, no, _now_ it was lobster-colored.

We had finished our drinks and were onto seconds when a man cleared his throat behind us. “Miss DeLaSearle, Your Royal Highness, it's time to board.”

Harry thanked him and asked if we could take our drinks on. With a smirk, the man assured us we could and we followed him to a gate. It was empty, except for two flight attendants in navy suits, who were smiling at us and looking as Barbie-like and identical as Rockettes. They both curtsied to Harry with a, “Welcome aboard, Your Royal Highness.” The way they said it they may as well have been suggesting the three of them join the mile-high club. 

I handed them my Passport, but Harry didn’t even bother. I assumed there was some other protocol they followed with a Royal. The flight attendants then led us down the jet-way and onto the plane. I’d never flown first-class before, but after seeing just how amazing it was, I immediately knew that it was going to be tough to go back to coach. The seats were individual pods, with chair backs that wrapped around to give privacy. There was ample room to lie down flat without having to worry about squashing the person behind you. In the pocket on the side of the seat there was a velvety blanket, a plush pillow, and a fluffy eye-mask. As we sat down, the flight attendants handed out steamed towels. Paolo sat behind Harry and I, looking around the cabin and then down at his wrist, which I suspected he was talking into.

“Oh my God, Harry. It’s like Heaven in here,” I told him, amazed.

With a fake grudge, Harry snottily replied, “Please. I’m _longing_ for the private jet.”  
I had been so distracted by all the first-class perks, I hadn’t noticed the woman in the seat next to Harry who was clearly staring at him. She wasn’t trying to hide it at all. _Well, good for her_ , I thought. At least she was owning it. The man in the seat in back of Harry was craning his neck around, too. I tried to imagine how I would react if a prince suddenly walked on to my flight. Probably not as well as these two were. I probably would have freaked out. Gesturing to the brochures in our seats, Harry asked, “Have you picked out what film your going to watch?”

“There are so many options. I’m hoping to watch one, eat, take a Xanax, and fall asleep until we land,” I told him my plan like I was going into battle.

Harry thought about is with mock-seriousness. “Hm. That sounds like a good strategy. When did you get a Xanax?”

“The nurse at school gave me a few when the whole Foxy Roxy thing was happening,” I admitted. “I didn’t use them all and B told me that with a cocktail they’re a great sleep aid.”

Chuckling, Harry agreed. “They are. I may make you share.”

“Harry! I can’t do that! I can’t deal drugs to a prince!” I hissed.

He laughed again. “Oh Lord, we’re going to get in loads of trouble with Dad if we keep talking like this around other people.”

Soon enough, we were taxiing away from the gate. After we’d been airborn for several minutes, the fight attendants turned on our television screens. I scrolled through a list of films, found a mindless comedy starring Will Ferrell, and relaxed as I waited for a flight attendant to offer me a glass of wine and a gourmet in-flight meal. This was certainly different from coach. The lights in the cabin had been turned low and the flights attendants had shut all the window screens when Harry got up to use the bathroom. When he came back, I’d reclined and pulled up my blanket. He crouched down low to my height and smiled at me. “Going to bed?” I yawned and nodded and he smiled. “All right. Here.” Reaching over, he placed the pillow under my head and handed me my eye-mask. “Have a good sleep.”

“Night,” I beamed at him. “Thank you so much for this trip.”

Running his fingers through my hair, he said, “You’re very welcome,” and kissed my forehead. I was asleep pretty damn soon.

***

When I woke up, I peeled my eye-mask off and blinked. At some point, we’d flown into the morning. The sun was up, and the flight attendants were handing out trays of breakfast. I thanked one of the impeccibly uniformed women while she poured me a glass of orange juice. Harry looked over at me, surprised. “Well hello there. I thought you wouldn’t wake up until we hit the tarmac.”

“How much longer do we have to go?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say much longer. Maybe an hour.”

I nodded and ate breakfast before making a trip to the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth, and wash my face. I always felt like it got so much greasier on an airplane. How did the flight attendants still look great? When I returned to my seat the pilot announced that we’d be starting our descent. I put my tray table up and my seat back in the full upright position and started to get butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t wait to get home and see my mom!

Our plane landed and I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Not so fast,” Harry advised me. “We’re the last ones on and the last ones off.”

“What? But you’re important! That deal sucks!”

Chuckling, Harry shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Tell her Paolo.”

“That’s just the way it is, Miss DeLaSearle,” Paolo repeated.

I made a mental note to make sure I got Paolo a late Christmas present and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting impatiently as every other passenger on the plane was allowed to get off except for us. I thought it would be a lot more inconvenient, but the door was between coach and first-class, so it wasn’t like all the passengers strode past Harry. 

When we were finally allowed to de-plane, Harry placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me out onto the jet way and into the gate. Paolo went first this time, making sure there weren’t any crazy people trying to kidnap Harry in JFK. There were plenty of crazy people, just none of them wanting to kidnap Harry, apparently, because we made it to baggage claim with little incident. There were a few people who tried to capture Harry with their cell phone cameras, but it was America. Way less people than I would have thought even recognized Harry, and by the time they did their double take we were too far away, thank God. 

Paolo collected our bags and a man approached us, flashing his credentials and letting us know that he was our driver. “Right,” Harry greeted him with a handshake. “Nice to meet you. Paolo is just getting our bags.”

“No rush, Your Royal Highness,” the man assured him. “Your Royal Highness” sounded funny in a thick Jersey accent. 

“How far is your house from here?” Harry asked when we were in the backseat of the town car. 

“Forty minutes,” I told him. “We could have taken the train, but I shudder to think what Paolo would say.”

“Yes, Paolo _can_ be a diva,” Harry joked.  
I leaned against Harry and pointed across the river to him while we drove down the Turnpike past the city skyline. It was one of my favorite views in the world. As we drove more I pointed out local landmarks like the sub shop that was the most delicious place to get a sandwich in Jersey (and possibly the entire universe), my high school, and my old dance studio. 

“This the place, miss?” the driver asked as we pulled up in front of my house.

“Yup,” I sighed, feeling suddenly extremely nervous for some reason. “Um… I’m just going to go first,” I told Harry. “I just don’t want her to have a stroke from the shock or anything.”

Chuckling, he nodded. “Understood. Just give me the signal and I’ll join you.”

Before I got out of the car, I wrapped my arms around him and let out a tiny moan. It felt so good to be home. “Mm….thank you.”

“Of course, Fox. The pleasure has been all mine.”

When I pulled away, I beamed at him. “Good! Just keep being charming and everything will be fine.” I opened the door and got out of the car, walking up the sidewalk to the house. It looked shabbier than I remembered it, like since I’d left it had let out a deep sigh. The roof seemed to slope inwardly, and the white siding needed to be power washed. Had it been so…worn when I left? Or had I just forgotten where I really lived after spending so much time in a palace? Shaking my head, I approached the door and rang the bell. Its familiar tinny tune rang out and I waited, hearing the creaking sound of someone coming down the stairs. 

When my mom opened the door, she gasped, looked like something had jumped out at her in a haunted house, and then immediately started crying. “Oh my God! Roxanna Nicole!” she exclaimed, wrapping me in a hug. 

“Hi, Mom,” I giggled. She was wearing her usual relaxing wear, which were yoga pants (although my mom had never taken a yoga class in her life) and an old sweatshirt of my dad’s. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she was wearing her glasses. From inside the house I could smell coffee and pancakes and my stomach growled.

“Oh my God!” she repeated. “What…how…what…”

I laughed as she strived to stammer out what she wanted to ask me. “I came to surprise you for New Years,” I told her.

“Well…I’m surprised!” she laughed hysterically. “Come in! I made pancakes. Grace and Ray took Eddie to the park, but they’ll be back soon.”

“Actually, Mom,” I paused short of entering the house. “There’s kind of a second part of my surprise.”

My mom paused and then looked over my shoulder. I supposed a blacked out car looked pretty suspicious, and she raised an eyebrow before looking back at me. “Roxanna Nicole. You did not bring the son of the most beautiful woman to ever grace this planet to my house in Elizabeth, New Jersey.”

Immediately feeling guilty, I tried to explain. “He’s the one who got us the tickets. I couldn’t say, ‘Oh thanks, but don’t come.’”

Rolling her eyes, my mom brushed herself off and let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, go tell him it’s safe then.” I wasn’t three paces away when my mom called me back to the front door. When I jogged over, she whispered, “What do I call him?”

This was hilarious, being on the other side of it. With a smirk, I insisted, “Call him Harry, Mom. Gosh, “ and I went back to the car. “Okay, all’s clear,” I told Harry. Feeling protective for some reason, I took his hand as we walked back up to the front door, Paolo watching from the street. “Mom, this is Harry. Harry, this is my mom.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. DeLaSearle. Roxanna has told me so much about you,” Harry shook her hand.

I watched, appalled, as my mom blushed. “Good things, I hope.” Then, looking past us she frowned. “Who’s that man standing by the car?”

“Oh, that’s my RPO,” Harry explained to her. When she didn’t look less confused, he added, “Royal Protection Officer.”

“Of course,” my mom nodded. “Does he want to come in?”

“He’ll be all right,” Harry assured her. It would have been awkward to explain that Paolo’s job was to stand at the curb and make sure no one tried to assassinate a prince. 

“Well come in, come in,” my mom ushered us into the house. “Can I get you guys anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee please Mommy,” I requested, giving her a cheesy grin.

“Harry? Anything?” she asked.

“No thank you. Americans don’t know how to make tea correctly.”

Raising an eyebrow, my mom asked, “And why is that?”

“The water is supposed to be boiling when you pour it over the tea bag. Otherwise you’re not drinking tea, you’re just drinking...hot leaf water. Americans have never known how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Your Royal Highness,” my mom gave an exaggerated bow.

Snickering, Harry turned to me. “I know where you get your sass from.”

A moment later, my mom returned, handing me a cup of coffee, and sat next to me on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re here!” she said again, squeezing my knee. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

“Sorry,” I shrugged. “That would have ruined the surprise, though.”

“You look thin. Are you eating right?” she asked, and before I could answer she tried to smooth down my messy mane of hair. “You need a haircut,” she repeated Bianca’s mother’s assessment.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I blushed.

“So how was your Christmas?” she asked.

“Mostly lazy and relaxing,” I answered.

“And you, Harry? How was your Christmas?” It was a polite question that she would ask anyone I brought home. I was glad my mom was capable of acting like a normal person around Harry.

“It was good. A little less relaxing than Roxy’s,” he grinned at me, "but good. It’s always...interesting when the whole family gets together.”  
My mom chuckled. “I bet. There sure are a lot of you. Your uncle has young kids, doesn’t he?”

I let my mom make small talk with Harry before I inevitably got bored. “Let’s go surprise Grace,” I suggested. “Then I can give everyone my presents.”

“You said they got lost in the mail! Roxanna Nicole! You little liar!” my mom half-heartedly scolded me. 

Harry and I strolled towards the neighborhood park, Paolo following behind us. “So tell me about Grace,” Harry requested.

“She’s gorgeous and smart and perfect. What else is there to say?” I answered bitterly. Chuckling, Harry suggested that I fill him in on her husband, Ray, and their three-year-old, Eddie. “They met in med school. Ray is a psychiatrist. He’s painfully Jewish. Like, super Jewish, which is fun actually. We used to go up to Boston on Passover and it was always a great experience. They got married pretty soon after they graduated, which my mom thought was a stupid idea because of the debt. I think it was pretty stupid too, but at the time I was just excited to be in the wedding. Then they had Eddie. I don’t think he was exactly planned, if you know what I mean. Grace had kind of a rough pregnancy so now she’s just working and raising Eddie. He’s adorable and perfect, even more perfect than Grace." When we came into view of the playground, I gestured for Harry to be quiet and I tiptoed up behind my sister and her husband, who were trying to coax Eddie to come down the slide. 

Turning to see us, Eddie pointed one chubby hand in our direction. “Aunt Rocky,” he said. I put my finger to my lips and he giggled, loving being part of the game.

“Huh? No Eddie, Aunt Rocky’s not here,” Grace said, and then turned where he was pointing. She gasped when she saw me and blurted out, "Holy shit Rock!”

We all laughed as I hugged her and Ray. “Get down here, stinker,” I demanded of Eddie. With a gleeful squeal, he slid down and let me pick him up and kiss him all over his face. “I missed you, you little stinker!”

“Aunt Rocky!” he squealed again, clapping his hands together.

“See, he told you,” I scolded Grace and Ray.

“Yeah, you got the drop on us, Eddie,” Ray ruffled his son’s hair, which was curly and brown, like his own.

“Who’s that?” Eddie asked, pointing to Harry.

I cleared my throat. Nothing like the abruptness of a little kid to break the ice. “Guys, this is Harry. Can you say hi?” I asked Eddie. He suddenly got shy and buried his head in my shoulder, peering at Harry out of the corner of his eyes.

Grace told Harry it was nice to meet him and then turned to Eddie. “Hey Eddie, guess what. Harry is a prince!”

Intrigued, Eddie looked from Harry to his mom. “No,” he shook his head slowly, clearly unsure of whether or not to believe her.

“Yes,” Grace laughed, nodding. “It’s true, ask him.”

Eddie cautiously looked at the red-headed stranger in front of him before asking, “Do you have a castle?”

Harry nodded. “Yup.”

“Do you have a horsey?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have a sword?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got loads of – “

“Harry!” Grace trilled. “Ix-nay on the ords-sway,” she sliced her hand across her neck.

Coughing, Harry shook his head. “Nope. No swords.”

Eddie squirmed and I put him down. Obviously over his bashfulness, he tugged on Harry’s hand and insisted, “Push me!” while leading him over to the swings.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Grace tried to intervene.

Harry held a hand up. “I’m an excellent swing-pusher,” he assured her, and followed Eddie.

Once the two of them were situated and Eddie was squealing with delight and giggling, “Higher! Higher!” Grace and Ray turned back to me. “Wow Roxy, I can’t believe you’re here,” Ray shook his head in wonder. “Did your mom cry?”

“Just a little. Then she got mad that I brought Harry,” I told them.

“Well how did that work?” Grace asked. “I can’t imagine that he would want to come to Jersey.” 

When I explained to them how Harry had gotten me tickets as a Christmas gift, Grace looked at Ray. It was like the look Will and Kate gave each other, and I knew they were mind-reading. “So, Rox, is he your boyfriend?” Ray asked slowly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, smiling as Harry gave in to Eddie’s demands that he push higher. When he was at the peak of the push, Eddie jumped off and ran to Harry, tagging him with a, “You’re it!” Like a good sport, Harry started chasing him back. “But that could change.”


	16. Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When we got back to the house, I was ready to dole out presents for the second time that holiday season. Since my family had thought I wouldn’t be home for Christmas, they’d mailed my gifts to London weeks ago. I handed out the gifts I’d gotten them last minute at the mini-Harrod’s before giving them their real gifts. I actually hadn’t put as much effort as usual into these gifts, since I’d been mostly focused on my gifts for the Royals, but I still thought these presents were pretty great. I’d gotten Ray the entire series of _Fawlty Towers_ on DVD, which was greatly appreciated. Eddie got a remote controlled RAF helicopter, a smaller model of one that William flew. Grace unwrapped her hair treatment and was already admiring it when I added, “That’s what Kate uses.”

“Kate _Middleton_?” she gasped.

“The one and only,” I nodded, grinning.

Jumping out of her chair, Grace threw her arms around me. “You’re the best little sister ever!” Then, she hugged Harry. “And you’re the best boyfriend of a little sister ever.”

A dense awkward feeling settled over us and my mom cleared her throat. “So where’s my gift that isn’t something you bought in the airport?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay, here, let me get it,” I said, reaching into my suitcase. I pulled out the slightly heavy wrapped book and handed it to her. “There. That’s your real gift.”

Frowning, my mom weighed it in her hands. “Is it a book?” she guessed before unwrapping it. “Ha! I knew it!” Once she had fully unwrapped it, she flipped through the pages of the biography of Princess Diana by Tina Brown. Opening the front cover, she gasped. Harry and I had called in a few favors and gotten the book signed for her. _To Marci – Hope you find this book as interesting reading it as I did writing it. –T.B._ “Oh my God! Roxanna Nicole!” my mom gasped for at least the fifth time today. “How did you get this?”

I gestured to Harry. “We know people.”

My mom’s eyes got teary and I was afraid she’d lose it, but she blinked them away and composed herself. “I was a huge fan of your mother’s,” she explained to Harry. I sucked in a breath as we dove headfirst into that awkward territory that I never knew how to navigate with Harry. 

“Thank you. So was I,” he added, light-heartedly.

With a sigh, my mom looked down at some of the pictures in the book. “So sad.” Then, looking up again she said to Harry what I could never find the strength to. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Thank you.” He let this statement settle before clapping his hands together. “I actually brought you all something, too.”

“Oh, no,” my mom muttered.

Laughing, Harry turned to me. “This is so strange. This trip has literally explained everything about you.” Then he started rummaging through my suitcase, where he’d stored the presents he’d gotten for my family. As he handed them out, my mom looked to me for answers, but I just shrugged. I didn’t know what they were. 

Ray unwrapped his first and then fumbled with the box. He cleared his throat and looked at Grace. The box was from Bremont, Britain’s premier watch designer. They were like the Rolex of England. When he opened the box there was a platinum-link watch with a black face that had silver hands and thin neon lights around it. It had three smaller circles inside the face telling other things, like the time in another time zone, how far above sea level the wearer was, or some other ridiculous thing. “Wow. Thanks man,” Ray finally let out, obviously impressed.

“Of course. Now Grace, I don’t know how often you’re going to get to use those,” he prefaced her present as she tore the wrapping off of it. Then, turning to me, he said that Kate had given him the idea when she gave Bianca her gift. I instantly recognized the L.K. Bennett box and knew that there was a pair of nude pumps in there.

“Oh my God! These are the L.K. Bennett Sledge pumps in taupe!” Grace shrieked. Clapping her hands together she said, “It doesn’t matter how much I wear them! If I never do, I’ll put them on display, next to my hair stuff, and make everyone who comes to the apartment look at how awesome and Kate-like I am!”

“Um…good plan,” Harry jokingly mocked her.

“My turn!” Eddie shouted, yanking on Harry’s pant leg.

“Eddie, that’s not nice,” Ray reminded him. “What do we say?”

“ _Please_ ,” Eddie whined.

“No whining, Eddie, or else you’re not getting anything,” Grace snapped. This worked and Eddie sat patiently looking up at Harry. 

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ve got something for you,” Harry assured him, handing over his gifts. 

“Did you know that we celebrate Hanukah?” Eddie asked, taking the presents from Harry.

“I did.”

“Do you celebrate Hanukah?”

“No, but that would be interesting,” Harry chuckled, no doubt imagining what his Gran would say if he walked into Sandringham wearing a yarmulke. 

Not unlike the way Grace had done, Eddie greedily tore the wrapping off of his presents. In one was a plastic crown, which he promptly put on his head. In the other was a plastic sword, which was immediately aimed at me. “I’m the prince!” he demanded.

“You had to get him a sword?” Grace asked Harry, amused.

Eddie ran around the house stabbing anything he could find, including several throw pillows. Harry turned to my mom and she sighed. “Well Professor, I don’t suppose there’s anything in that bag for me.”

“Ah, don’t you worry. Saved the best for last.” Finally, Harry handed my mom a narrow envelope that I recognized and instantly knew what was in it. 

Frowning, my mom slipped her finger under the flap and opened it. When she reached inside, though, there was just a business card. “Um…a business card?” she laughed. “Really Harry, you shouldn’t have!”

“That,” Harry pointed to the card, “is the business card for my travel secretary at Clarence House. It’s for a roundtrip flight whenever you want to come visit Roxy in London.”

Instantly, my mom shoved the envelope back at Harry. “That’s sweet honey, but I really can’t accept this.”

“Jesus Christ,” Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, obviously wishing that someone in the DeLaSearle family knew how to accept a present other than Grace and Eddie.

“Mom, it won’t work. Just take it,” I advised her.

She sighed and dabbed a tissue under her eyes. “Well this is all very sweet of you, Harry. Thank you,” she sniffled, getting up and embracing him in a warm hug. When Harry hugged her back, he was at least a whole head and shoulders taller than her, but when I watched them, it seemed like his whole body was sighing into the hug, like he was letting his whole weight down on her. She didn’t seem to mind, and I was sure I’d given her tons of these hugs before. On the contrary, she embraced him even more warmly, rubbing her hands over his back. It was the kind of hug only a mother could give, and I realized that Harry hadn’t had one of those in a long time. I looked away and tried to swallow the lump in my throat and blink the tears from my eyes. 

***

That night my mom ordered Chinese take out, and I was feeling full and sleepy when it occurred to me that I didn’t know where Harry was going to sleep. I somehow didn’t think my mom would be down with him staying in my room, mostly because he was a boy and also because he was used to much more luxurious accommodations. It was getting late and I rested my head on his shoulder as he chatted politely with my family. “Tired?” he asked. 

I yawned and nodded. “I don’t suppose you have plans for tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve got _big_ plans for tonight,” he countered. Laughing, I shoved him playfully and he explained that he’d gotten a room at a hotel in the city, and that he didn’t know if I’d want to come with him or not. 

I wouldn’t have minded spending the night in my own bed, but I also didn’t want Harry to have to make the trek back to Jersey tomorrow all by himself. “I’ll come with you,” I volunteered. Harry gave me a slow smile and I blushed, hoping he wasn’t getting any ideas. With a groan, I got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, where my mom was making (what was apparently an incorrect) cup of tea. “Hey Ma, we’re leaving.”

She turned around, bewildered. “Leaving?”

“Yeah. Not for forever. Just for tonight.”

Her look of surprise turned to one of disappointment. “You don’t want to spend the night here? In your own bed?” She tried to make me feel even worse with a sympathy-inducing squeeze on the arm. 

“Well yeah, but I don’t want Harry to have to find his way back here alone tomorrow night.”

Before my mom could offer a rebuttal (and it looked like she was about to make a smartass remark), Grace joined us in the kitchen. I could hear Harry and Ray laughing about something in the living room and my heart warmed. This was exactly what I wanted in the holiday season - my cozy house that smelled like coffee and pancakes, my sister and I not at each other’s throats for once, warm hugs from my mom, and the sound of laughter from people I loved. “Rock, did you get an invitation to the wedding?”

My face flushed and my chest got splotchy, a telltale sign that I was on the spot. “Um…what?”

“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?” Grace hissed. “You’re going, right?”

“Grace, I really can’t talk about this.”

“I _knew_ it!” she threw her fists in the air triumphantly. “You only wouldn’t be able to talk about it if there was something to talk about!”

I looked to my mom for support and in a calming tone she said, “Grace, don’t bother your sister about the royal wedding.” We all paused, and then started giggling at the absurdity of this rule. When we’d stopped giggling, my mom explained, “So Grace, your sister is spending the night with His Royal Highness. She’s leaving us.”

Grace scoffed. “Psht. Duh. Get you some, girl.”

“Grace Estefania DeLaSearle!”

“What? Why would she spend the night in her room from high school with Nsync posters on the walls when she could be getting a hot stone massage at a five-star hotel with the Prince of England?”

Grace’s description turned out to be not that much of an exaggeration. Harry, of course, hadn’t gotten us reservations at a Holiday Inn. Rather, he’d booked a room at a hotel in Times Square called the Chatwal. Just the front of the building looked beautiful, with exposed brick and navy awnings and bell boys so well dressed they could easily rival the men in the red coats at KP. “Holy crap, Harry. Did you have a palace built in the City?”

Smirking, he got out of the car and I followed. When he walked into the lobby it seemed that a concierge appeared out of thin air, bent at the waist. “Welcome to the Chatwal, Your Royal Highness. We’ve been looking forward to having you. My name is Jean-Pierre.” _Of course it is_ , I thought, rolling my eyes. “Please feel free to call down to the concierge desk any time if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Harry nodded at him. “I think we’re fine for tonight. Has Clarence House called you?” Jean-Pierre assured Harry that Clarence House had been in touch with them to alert them of all of the security procedures. Harry thanked him again, slipped a bell boy a tip to take our bags up to the room, and then the two of us and Paolo headed into the elevator.

I turned to Paolo. “Are you going to get a hot stone massage?”

“I don’t think so, miss,” he chuckled.

“If Harry gets one, do you have to watch?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that get awkward?”

He smirked. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

I turned back to Harry. “You should let Paolo get a hot stone massage.”

“Paolo, hot stone massage, pronto,” Harry ordered, slinking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. “Roxanna and I might want some alone time.”

“Harry!” I pushed him away as the doors opened with a ding. The room was not, of course, a small bedroom with two full-sized beds, like the one my mom and I had stayed in when I’d moved to London. No, this hotel suite wasn’t like that room at all. The suite had two bedrooms, each with a king-sized bed. It was as elegantly decorated in the same theme as KP or Bianca’s house. It had a huge sitting room, a dining room with a table long enough for six people, a kitchen that you could cook a Thanksgiving feast in, and two full bathrooms with claw-foot tubs. There was also a fully furnished terrace outside. By the time our luggage had been delivered, I was still staring at it, mouth agape. Finally, I shook my head and assessed, “Well, you never do anything half way.”

“Never,” Harry agreed. Then, he threw the packet containing his card keys to Paolo and explained, “He holds them for me so I don’t lose them.”

“One day, Harry, you’re going to have to be a real grown up,” I warned.

“One day, but not today,” he grinned. Again, he wrapped an arm around me and steered me into one of the bedrooms. “I assumed you’d be staying with me. Unless of course you wanted to room with Paolo.”

Pretending to think about it, I mumbled, “Well, Paolo _does_ seem like a good cuddler.”

“Oh, I am an _excellent_ cuddler,” Harry insisted.

“All right, I _guess_ I’ll stay with you,” I conceded before opening my suitcase and getting ready for bed.

After Harry and I had brushed our teeth and changed into pajamas, I crawled into bed, exhausted. “What do you think?” Harry asked as we fell back against the pillows.

Giggling, I turned on my side so we were face to face. “Well it’s not KP, but it’s not too shabby.”

“So,” he sighed, and I knew what was coming. My stomach twisted like it was a wet rag someone was trying to wring out. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” I shrugged.

Harry squinted at me, interpreting this statement. “You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic about it.”

I shrugged again. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous?” he asked. “Why?”

My stomach twisted tighter, which I thought would have been impossible. “I don’t know. Because I like you,” I offered, sounding like I was thirteen. 

Harry laughed. “You like me? Or you _like me_ like me?” he asked, mocking my juvenile expression. “Well, don’t be nervous. I like you.”

“You _do_?” I asked, pretending to be astonished. “You mean, you have a _crush_ on me?”

He nodded. “I was going to send you a secret-admirer note after gym class.”

Giggling, I felt my body get hot, assuming I’d gone all splotchy again. “Um…so what now?”

“Now we enjoy New Years,” Harry stated. “And figure out the rest when we get back home.”

“Okay.” I waited a beat before asking, “So…wanna make out?” As it turned out, he did.


	17. Local Celebrity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When I woke up the next morning, I thought I could get used to waking up in luxurious places. I yawned, stretching my arms over my head. Harry was still asleep and he looked so adorable that I didn’t want to wake him up. Instead, I picked up my cell phone and texted B. _Had “the talk.”_ Within five seconds, my phone vibrated. _And????_ Snickering, I texted back, _Not sure, but have spend a lot of time kissing thus far. Not going to question a good thing._ Not long after that, B texted me, _Good idea_. 

By the time I got out of the shower, Harry was awake and on the hotel phone. Pulling it away from his mouth he asked, “Do you want breakfast?”

“Mmm yes,” I came up behind him wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe and looked over his shoulder at the menu. After we ordered, Harry placed a hand on the back of my head and pressed my lips to his. “Harry!” I squealed, coming up for air. “I’m wearing a _bathrobe_.”

“I know,” Harry winked at me. I let out a shriek of laughter as he tackled me back onto the bed. I knew what his goal was, of course, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to go that far with him yet. I’d done it before in high school with the drummer I'd told Bianca about the morning after we'd met Harry. It was painful and awkward, the typical sixteen-year-old way. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to go there with Harry yet. When I pushed on his chest somewhat firmly, he pulled back. “All right,” he sat up. “All right.”

My heart squeezed and I appreciated him even more for not being a jerk about it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I planted a smack of a kiss on his face. “You’re the best.”

He delicately unwrapped my arms. “Maybe no touching for now.”

I giggled and blushed while he got up to take (what I suspected was a cold) shower. While he showered, I got dressed, and could tell when he was out of the bathroom because he smelled delicious, like pine and cedar and other woodsy, earthy things. “Can I touch you now?” I asked. Harry nodded and I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against his chest, which still had droplets of water beading on it. He was all warm and hard and strong. Why had I tried to resist this for so long?

Harry kissed the top of my head. “Your mum will be looking for you.”

I pulled back and looked up at him. “Hmph. Okay, fine. I’ll let you get dressed.”

“If we’re not going to shag, it’s least that you can do,” he smirked.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled away from him and called Jean-Pierre for our car. We were almost to my place when we drove past South Hills Dance Studio. “That’s my dance school,” I pointed out the window to Harry.

“It is?” he asked. “Hey mate,” he tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Can we make a quick stop here?”

“You want to stop?” I asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Yeah! I want to see the place that molded you into the dancer that you are today,” he said dramatically.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tried to settle him down. “I started dancing because Grace did it, and I was in this stage where I just copied her every move.”

“I did that with Will,” Harry revealed. “Drove him mad.”

Laughing, I told him that Grace’s reaction with pretty much the same. “But she quit and I kept doing it because…because I guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Ballet doesn’t seem like something you excel at because you have nothing better to do,” Harry surmised, confused.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love doing it. I just never thought I’d be doing it at the level of RBA. At least not until George, the guy who owns this place, told me I could. Then I came to London and met you. Like it was fate,” I joked.

Harry opened the car door and held a hand out to me. “Well then let’s meet the man who made it all possible.”

When we got closer to the entrance of the studio, Harry grinned and pointed to a sign in the window. “Dance School of RBA Student Roxanna DeLaSearle!” it screamed, and then offered pictures of me in _Cinderella_ and tabloid photos of me around London. There were no pictures of Harry and I or Foxy Roxy, but the advertising scheme was clear – _Go to our ballet school and date a prince!_ Blushing, I shrugged at Harry and made my way inside. I knew that the studio was officially on winter break, so I wasn’t surprised by how quiet it was. In one or two of the practice rooms was a girl working on an audition piece, or just looking for peace from family during the holidays. There had been many times when Grace came home from college on the honor roll, getting straight A’s, meeting perfect boyfriend after perfect boyfriend, and I’d sat, listening until I felt like I’d vomit before escaping to the studio. The girls in there, practicing now – _they’d_ be the ones to go to Julliard, or RBA, or some other dance school.

“Wait a minute,” Harry paused, stopping in the wide hallway. The dance studio had opened in the 80s and I’d started dancing in 1998. George had huge frames with pictures of all the end of the year recital numbers since 1982. This included pictures of me in a number of embarrassing costumes – a turtle costume, a tiger-striped one, a pink and white frilly something-or-other. Harry was squinting at me in a less embarrassing older picture. At thirteen we’d done a number from _Phantom of the Opera_. The costume had been a black lace up bodice and black tulle skit. I said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d bypassed the tiger-print leggings and looked at the picture. For some reason, I thought I didn’t look particularly happy.

After we’d scanned the pictures, I headed down the hallway to George’s office, remembering the last time I’d made this trip. It seemed so ridiculous to look back on. I’d come from substitute teaching a class for God’s sake! Why had I been so scared? Why would my mind immediately go to, “I must be getting expelled?" How ridiculous! Reaching out, I took Harry’s hand, lifting it up to my mouth for a kiss. Okay, so being a teenager hadn’t been the most fun thing on the planet, but that was all in the past. Here I was, back again, going to a fabulous academy, literally with a prince. Harry repeated my gesture himself, then kissed my temple as I paused outside the door of the office. As I knocked, I also thought I could get used to all this kissing. “Come in,” came George’s familiar bored-sounding reply. When I slowly opened the door and poked my head in, he looked up from his desk, jaw dropping. “Oh my God! Our very own home town celebrity!” he exclaimed, jumping up from behind the desk and coming over to embrace me in a hug. When the door opened wider, so did George’s eyes as he saw Harry. With a campy bow he greeted him, “Your Highness.”

He and Harry shook hands. “So you’re the man who taught Roxy everything she knows?”

George considered this statement. “Not _every_ thing. But almost,” he admitted proudly. 

“Well then a thank you is in order, for bringing her to us,” Harry smiled at him.

Waving a hand, George assured him, “Just remember my name when you’re sending out wedding invites.” And then George did something people _rarely_ did when Harry and I were together, and started excitedly asking _me_ questions. “Roxy, how is school?” he wanted to know, offering Harry and I seats across from his desk. It felt good actually, to talk ballet with George. He wanted to know all about Madam’s critiques. When I told him, I was relieved to hear his pointers or his reassurances that I was already a phenomenal dancer and Madam was insane, or as he put it, “bat shit crazy.” Harry played the role of perfect boyfriend very well, interjecting here and there. His knowledge of ballet was, of course, limited to snippets of conversations that he’d heard from me and Bianca. All the same, he tried to stay involved, even if he couldn’t keep up with me and George.

“Roxy sometimes feels like Madam picks on her too much, but I think that just means she sees potential.”

“Of course, Roxy. Don’t be ridiculous. You know how this works,” George reminded me.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I glanced nervously around at Harry. “Well, to be honest it’s mostly about Harry.” George waited for me to go on. I explained to him about the lectures Madam gave that seemed to conveniently coincide with times Harry and I had made public outings, and how she always seemed frustrated if Harry showed up at the performances. Harry reminded me about when Madam stuck up for me during the Foxy Roxy scandal and I told George about that as well.

“Well then there you have it!” George concluded, apparently under the impression that all was explained.

“Uh…there I have what?” I asked, not as enlightened as he was.

“It’s not like you have to read between the lines, Roxy. Madam thinks you’re a wonderful dancer and she likes you. She just doesn’t want you to get caught up in a relationship and get carried away. That would be true if you were dating anyone, Prince Harry or some rando.”

“But she doesn’t say it to the other girls. I’m sure _they’re_ in relationships,” I pointed out.

George grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you don’t think that you may have taken this to be all about you? When it’s about all the other girls? You don’t know what else is going on there. Maybe Madam noticed one of the girls was off her diet that week so she gave you a commitment speech. It’s not all about you, Roxy.”

Blushing, I confessed, “I hadn’t really thought about that.” 

“Most people your age don’t,” George nodded.

We talked a bit longer, at the end of which I felt a tremendous amount of relief. “Feel better?” Harry asked as we made our way back to the car.

“Much,” I answered, opening my door and climbing in. Harry’s phone beeped as I pulled out of the parking lot. “Who’s that?” I asked.

“Just Will wanting to know how it’s going,” he told me.

“What are they doing for New Years?” I inquired nosily.

“Don’t know. Probably something boring in Angelsy.”

Laughing, I sarcastically agreed, “Right. The two of them wanting to spend a holiday away from cameras and annoying people who won’t leave them alone. How stupid.”

Harry gave a fake quiver of disgust. “A quiet New Year alone. How dreadful.” Then, smirking, he leaned over the armrest and kissed my cheek.

***

When we got back home, I heard Eddie screaming inside and found him running up and down the front hallway, apparently for no other reason than he was hyper. I caught him and picked him up, tossing him in the air above me and blowing a raspberry on his tummy. “Come here, Smelly.”

“I’m not smelly!” Eddie insisted, giggling and trying to kick out of my arms.

“You’re pretty smelly,” I gravely informed him.

“You’re smelly!” he retorted.

“Eddie! Don’t call your Aunt Rocky smelly!” Grace scolded form where she was sprawled on the couch, reading a medical journal. 

“Harry’s smelly!” Eddie cackled.

“Eddie! Don’t call the Prince of England smelly!” my mom jokingly scolded her grandson. When she came over to greet Harry and I with kisses on our cheeks, she wiped her forehead, obviously exhausted. “That child has been full of energy all day.”

“I’ve got it,” Harry said. “Eddie, you wanna go play soccer?” Eddie would have been expecting something completely different had he called it football.

Eddie stared at him like a guppie before turning to his mom as if to ask permission.

Amused, Grace asked, “Well? Do you wanna play soccer?”

“What’s that?” Eddie asked Harry quietly. Ray wasn't the most athletic person on the planet, and Boston worshipped at the altar of the holy Patriots and the most revered Red Sox. So no, I wasn't surprised at Eddie's limited knowledge of soccer.

Shaking his head, Harry groaned, “What do you people teach children here?” Then, sticking his head out the front door he told Paolo to meet them around back. I led the way to the back yard and found an old soccer ball that somehow hadn’t deflated, even though it must have been years since Grace had used it. (I had never touched it. Not even with my big toe.) Harry explained to Eddie that they couldn’t touch the ball with their hands, and I made sure Eddie wouldn’t get clobbered before going back inside. “So what’d you guys do this morning?”

“Um…you’re looking at it,” my mom gestured to the living room. “I’ve been reading the new Nora Roberts, but your sister is reading some brainy doctor journal.”

“Ray? I assume you’re partaking in this exciting reading-fest,” I said, plopping down on the arm of the overstuffed chair he was sitting in and looking over his shoulder at his ipad. 

He showed the screen to me. “It’s about the economic crisis.”

“Oh God. Why would you want to read about this? Here’s the whole book: Everyone’s broke,” I summed up. 

“Honestly Roxy, you should pay more attention to the news,” Grace rolled her eyes at me.

I narrowed mine at her. “I would, except most of the times it’s saying nasty things about me.”

She snickered, which instantly made me tense up. “So now _you’re_ the news? Foxy Roxy is right up there with the financial crisis and the War in Iraq?”

“Mom!” I snapped.

“Grace, come on,” my mom said in a warning tone.

“What?” Grace asked innocently. “All I said was that she should pay more attention to the world!”

“Okay, but she didn’t ask you, so why don’t you _sh_ ,” she suggested, making the shut-up motion with her hand. Grace huffed and I noticed Ray shrinking back into his chair. I was wondering how he could tolerate being around her all the time when there was an exclamation from outside and I heard Harry yell, “GOOOOOOAL!” before bursting in the back door, holding Eddie on his shoulders.

Grace instantly softened, which was one (and possibly the only) redeeming quality about her – she loved her son. “Did you score a goal, Eddie?” He nodded and Grace got up, plucking him off Harry’s shoulders. “Way to go, you’re a regular David Beckham!”

“That man has a gun!” Eddie blurted out, pointing to Paolo. The room suddenly quieted and all eyes turned to Harry’s minder.

He blushed, obviously not used to attention, before clearing his throat and confirming, “Um…yes, I have gun.”

Grace turned on me instantly, like a puma pouncing on an elk carcass. “You brought a _gun_ into the house with a _three-year-old_?”

“Uh, _no_ ,” I countered slowly. “ _Paolo_ brought the gun into the house with a three-year-old, which is his job. He didn’t tell him to play with it or anything.”

“Roxy!”

“What?”

“What on earth were you thinking?”

“Wait a minute, why am I getting in trouble for this?” I asked her.

Exasperated, Grace looked to my mom for help, but she was obviously torn. “Rock, maybe you should have told us that this nice man here was packing heat.”

“He’s Harry’s bodyguard, do you think you could have put that together yourself?” Instinctively, I took Harry’s hand, feeling the need to protect him. “Can we just calm down? Everyone is fine.”

Grace was obviously still mad, but Ray gave her shoulders a squeeze and she backed down. When the others had dispersed, I turned to Harry, humiliated. “Sorry…about that.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t imagine many people would feel comfortable with guns around their children.”

“Yeah, well…” I let my muttering trail off, even though in my head I was thinking of about a million different expletives to call Grace. 

I hadn’t noticed what the others were talking about until I heard my mom ask, “Is that okay, Rock?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to order Capriccio’s for lunch?”

Scoffing, I asked, “Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“Roxanna! Language! And that doesn’t even make sense!” Harry snickered and my mom rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll call Tony,” she referred to the man at the pizza place in our hometown, whom we’d known all our lives. “Harry, any preference on how you like pizza?”

“I like all pizza,” he told her, which was true. If it was loaded with extra calories in the form of grease or sugar, it was Harry’s favorite food.

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I assured him that he’d love Cappriccio’s. “It’s delicious. Oh my _God_ , I’ve missed pizza.”

Frowning, Harry pointed out, “We have pizza in London.”

I laughed, tilting my head back. “No, you have tomato sauce and cheese on dough – it’s not the same thing.”

“It sounds exactly like the same thing,” Harry mumbled.

I was about to school Harry in Jersey pizza when, behind us, my mom cleared her throat. When I turned around she was giving us, and our small PDA a very pointed look. Since I didn’t want to explain what weird thing we were doing, I jumped away from Harry and offered to go pick up the pizzas.

***

A few hours later, Eddie was zoned out in front of _Rudolph_ , and Grace, Ray, my mom, Harry and I were lunching on pizza. Grace and I dabbed the grease off of our slices first, in the same way we’d been doing since the eighth grade. My mom and the guys didn’t seem to care, and just dug in. “So Rock,” my mom piped up, going for her second slice of garlic and sausage. “What are you and Harry’s plans for New Years?”

It occurred to me that I had no idea if we even had plans for New Years. “Oh um…I don’t know, actually. Do we have plans?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Oh, we have plans.”

“Uh oh…” I bit down on my bottom lip.

“So? The suspense is killing me over here,” Grace blurted out.

Chuckling, Harry looked around at all of them. “Well, actually I’ve made plans for all of us.”

Blinking, Grace looked from him to my mom to Ray and back to Harry. “All of _us_?” she gestured in a circular motion with her hand.

He nodded again. “Right.” Then, smirking, he asked, “Do you want to know what the plans are, Grace?”

Practically gasping, Grace rasped out, “You’re killing me Wales!”

Harry laughed and I shook my head, realizing that he was enjoying this way too much. “Well, first I thought it would be nice if we went to see a show.”

“What show?” Grace asked, and then, in a more demanding tone repeated, “What show?”

“Babe, calm down,” Ray chuckled, holding her back in her seat. 

“ _Les Miserables_ ,” Harry finally answered her.

My mom’s mouth dropped open. “Harry! You didn’t have to do that for us!”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure. Besides, that’s not all,” he promised Grace. “We’ll go to the matinee of _Les Mis_ , then go to dinner at Le Bernardin.”

“Holy crap! That’s Eric Ripert’s restaurant! Eric Ripert! From _Top Chef_ ,” Grace shook Ray.

“I know,” Ray assured her, attempting with much effort, but to no avail, to free himself from Grace’s clutches.

“And _then_ ,” Harry continued.

“There’s _more_ ,” my mom breathed out. “I’m getting exhausted just listening to it.”

“ _Then_ , we’re going to go back to the hotel and have a little New Years party, because you can see the ball drop from our suite.”

The kitchen was completely silent. I could hear every line in the song they were singing on the Island of Misfit Toys. After a few seconds, Ray shook his head. “Lay off man, you’re making me look bad.”

Grace turned to him, and with a kiss on the cheek she told him, “Aw, don’t worry. I got over the fact that you don’t have any colonies a long time ago.”


	18. Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The next day, to prevent Harry from dying of boredom, I decided to try and teach him how to drive on our side of the road. “It’s an automatic,” he noted of my mom’s Honda Civic.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Is that a problem?”

Frowning, he told me, “Most cars in the UK are standard transmission.”

“Welcome to America.” Harry smirked and playfully shoved me into the passenger seat. When we got in the car I told him, “It’s just like driving your way, only opposite. So be careful.”

“Yes, I know, thank you.” He stuck the keys in the ignition and turned the car on, pressing down on the gas ever so slightly. “How do we get some tunes in this joint?” Harry asked, fiddling with the stereo dials. I leaned forward and turned on the radio, which instantly started blasting Bruce Springsteen. Laughing, Harry noted, “Your mum likes the Boss.”

“Loves him,” I shook my head, and tried not to look too terrified as we drove slowly around my neighborhood. It wasn’t so bad, except he did almost get us t-boned because he kept looking right when he should have been looking left. After that little adventure, I decided Harry was done driving for the day and we took Eddie, who was still wearing his crown and wielding his sword, to the park. He was swooping down the slide at light-speed, swinging the sword at any tree or piece of jungle-gym equipment that he could reach. 

Harry and I sat on the swings, our feet dragging in the woodchips underneath us. “So…Fox, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Oh God,” I groaned. “This can’t be good.”

Harry reached out and placed his hand over mine. He was warm, so I didn’t recoil, even though I wanted to. Not because Harry disgusted me or anything, but I was terrified of what was about to come next. “It’s not bad. I’m just curious, because you never talk about it. You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to, but I’ve been wondering…what happened with your parents?”

Nodding slowly, I asked, “You mean where’s my dad?” Harry waited for me to answer my own question, and I shrugged. “Dunno. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Blinking, Harry pressed, “Well…is he alive?”

“I think so, but I really don’t know. He walked out when I was ten years old for the last time and he didn’t come back.”

“Why?”

Chuckling, I answered, “You know, he didn’t stop to say.” Knowing that Harry was going to ask more follow-ups, I figured I should just bite the bullet and give him the whole story – or at least what I knew. “My parents had been fighting for a pretty long time. I don’t know if they planned on having two kids so far apart. They started out happy, I think, but then my dad started getting a lot more attention for his research, and I think…I think he wanted something that my mom never thought she’d have.”

“And what was that?” Harry asked softly.

I paused, trying to put my finger on it. “Just…a lifestyle. He was doing these important lectures and appearing on CNN and stuff to talk about this ground-breaking medical research he was doing. I guess that’s where Grace gets it. I think he wanted my mom to be more ambitious, o they could be part of a power-couple or something, but my mom was happy teaching kindergarten in Jersey. She didn’t need fancy dinners out or new cars or diamonds, and I think my dad resented that.” When I finished my explanation, I turned to see that Harry was nodding slowly, like he understood something. “What?”

“That explains a lot. I think sometimes you get uncomfortable with my… position and the…certain advantages I’ve had.” This was Harry’s polite way of saying that he was filthy rich. “I see now why you would associate those things with something like your dad.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” I admitted.

It was a while before Harry spoke up again. “I have another question.”

“Oh Jesus, what now?”

“Well, you don’t look anything like Grace or your mum. Do you get the curly hair from your dad?” he asked with a smirk, brushing an unruly strand off my forehead.

I tilted my head back, laughing. “Yeah. This would be my DeLaSearle heritage,” I admitted. “We’re Spanish. Like, from Spain.”

“Ooh, _bonita seniorita_ ,” Harry snickered.

Rolling my eyes, I got off the swing. “ _Dios mio._ ”

***

On New Years Eve, Harry had gotten Grace and Ray, and my mom a room at the Chatwal. My sister had gotten one of the girls from our neighborhood to watch Eddie at my mom’s house that night, even though I kind of wished he could come with us. I guessed he probably wouldn’t have appreciated _Les Mis_ too much, which I knew very little about other than that it was set during the French Revolution (which turned out to be wrong anyway). As it turned out, a lot of the play was incredibly sad. It had a pleasant ending (because I wouldn’t necessarily call it a happy one), but my mom, Grace, and myself all left the theater dabbing at our eyes with tissues. In the car on the way over, Grace was touching up her make up. She was still working on it when we got out in front of the restaurant, and all of us were standing, shivering and exposed to photographers, on the sidewalk while she swiped on another layer of mascara. 

“Grace, come on! We have a reservation!” I reminded her. My mom gave me a warning look.

Grace all but ignored my statement. “Roxy, your boyfriend is the Prince of England. I’m sure they’ll hold the table.”

“Wales,” Harry pointed out.

Pausing, Grace slowly responded, “Sharks?”

Harry chuckled. “No, I’m a Prince of Wales, not England.”

“Oh. I thought we were just naming sea animals.” Finally, she snapped her compact closed and hopped out of the car.

Harry took my hand as we made out way into the restaurant. When we were safely inside, the restaurant was heated and lovely, and painted with warm yellows and blues, full of large bouquets of flowers. It was a very calming atmosphere. The maitr’d looked up, recognized Harry, and gave a low bow. Then, with a thick French accent he said, “Right this way, Your Royal Highness.” Had we been in England, everyone in the restaurant would have stopped eating and immediately recognized Harry. In the dining room, however, only four or five pairs of eyes trailed us. Only one girl dropped her fork with a clatter, which I’m sure very rarely happened at Le Bernardin. We wove through the restaurant to a pair of woven clothed sliding doors. “Your private room, sir,” the maitr’d showed us, opening the door on one side.

It took me a while to recognize the tall couple who were already in the room. The décor was so beautiful that I was distracted by the candles, the ivory linens, the sparkling silver. My eyes then landed on William, in a dapper navy suit, and Kate, in a cobalt blue dress with long lace sleeves. “Oh my God! Guys!” I squealed, opening my arms to them. “What are you doing here?”

When we broke away from our hug, Kate explained, “Harry told us you were going to be here for New Year’s, and I thought it would be fun.”

“She means she got incredibly jealous and begged and begged to come,” William corrected her.

I giggled and turned around to Grace and my mom, who were both staring, jaws open, at the Royal Couple. Chuckling, Ray waved a hand in front of Grace’s face. She didn’t even blink. “Mom, Grace, these are my friends,” I squeezed Kate’s hand.

My mom composed herself first and shook William’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement,” she said to Kate.

“Thank you,” Kate beamed at her.

I went up behind Grace and mumbled out of the corner of my mouth, “You’re really going to have to start breathing soon.”

Grace obeyed and showed signs of life by grinning at me, bemused. “Roxy, who are you?” she asked.

Sticking my nose in the air, I sniffed, “I’m someone very important, Grace, now say hello to my important friends, William and Catherine.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Grace said to Kate. “Journalists have been calling the hospital I work at to see if I have any wedding secrets.”

“Oh, no,” Kate said with a sympathetic expression.

“What do you tell them?” William asked, more out of curiosity than worry that Grace had said anything. He knew she had no idea, after all.

Grace shrugged and waved a hand. “The nurses just hang up, but a couple of times we’ve been tempted to say, ‘She’s walking down the aisle in bright orange,’ or something. Just to fuck with them.”

“Grace! Watch your language,” my mom scolded.

“I’m almost thirty, Ma,” Grace reminded her.

While they chatted, I turned to Harry and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You surprised me.”

“Did I?” he grinned down at me. “And was it a good surprise?”

I answered him with a soft peck on the mouth and didn’t miss Kate’s amazed look. I ignored it, though, figuring I didn’t want to explain my relationship status over dinner. Besides, the menu was going to need my full attention. I’d been looking forward to this since Harry had told me about our New Years plans. William summoned the waiter with a hand gesture and ordered a $200 bottle of champagne. I didn’t feel too guilty about this, however, since the exchange rate from the pound to the dollar was fully in their favor. “So what have you done in the City so far?” I asked Kate.

“We went to see _Wicked_ today,” she said, beaming at William. “He hated it, but it was _very_ sweet of him to come with me. I’m _dying_ to get to the shops. Do you and Grace want to come with me tomorrow? There will be loads of sales, and I won’t subject the boys to that sort of torture.”

“Ooh, you’ll _love_ Saks,” Grace assured her. “And Barney’s. And Monolo…and Prada…Coach…Louis…”

“Honey, I think you’re drooling,” Ray joked.

“Up for a shopping trip tomorrow Mom?” I asked my mom across he table.

She raised an eyebrow. “When have I _not_ been up for a shopping trip?” she asked. Actually, I’d never seen my mom in Saks, or any store on 5th. If my mom went shopping in the City, it was in Century 21 where the clothes were marked way, way down. Grace, on the other hand, shopped like she was a wealthy doctor in a big city…which she was. At least she’d be able to keep up with Kate if my mom and I couldn’t.

The servers came to put down the first course in our tasting menu (striped bass, fennel, zucchini, artichoke, and some sauce that was not light on the butter), but before I could tuck in, Harry clinked his knife against the side of his glass. “Before Thanksgiving, Roxanna made us name things we were thankful for. So I think we should go around the table and say our New Years resolutions. Roxy, you start.”

“Me? Why me?” I asked.

“Because I haven’t made one yet.”

We laughed and I drew in a breath. “My New Year’s resolution is to relax more, and enjoy myself more. And to not take for granted the opportunity I get to go to a great school in a fabulous city. Grace?” I asked my sister.

She, too, thought about it before answering. “My New Year’s resolution is to spend more time with my family. And to take advantage of my little sister going to the Royal Ballet Academy and take a trip to London,” she winked at me.

Ray smiled warmly at her. “Mine is to spend more time with Eddie and less time at the office. And to take those ballroom dancing lessons with Grace.” When we all laughed, Ray gestured to Harry and Will. “I’m getting shown up here!”

“Mom?” Grace and I asked our mother.

“That’s easy. To stop worrying so much about my baby girl in another country. She’s clearly doing fine over there on her own,” she gave the Royals pointed looks. “What about you, sweetheart?” she asked Will, who was too old to be called sweetheart, but who didn’t seem to care.

“My New Year’s resolution is to try to be a better teacher of royal life to Kate. And to be a better protector of her. And to be more patient with Harry and…everyone, really.” 

“You’re not impatient, are you, Will?” I asked. I hadn’t necessarily seen it, but according to Tina Brown (and Harry), William could have a temper on him from time to time.

Kate and Harry laughed loud guffaws. “Oh, no, he never let’s _you_ see that,” Harry pointed out. “You still think he’s nice.”

“You should ask the men at Clarence House,” Kate told me.

“All right, all right. I’ve said I’m going to make it my New Year’s resolution,” Will interrupted, proving their point. “Catherine. Your turn.”

Kate drummed her fingertips over her mouth. “I think my resolution is to be more relaxed about the wedding. To have a better time with it, and to just enjoy being engaged.” She gave William one of their private smiles before turning to Harry. “I hope you’ve come up with something by now.”

Harry nodded. “I think I have. I think my New Year’s resolution will be to be more ambitious and go for what I want. At work, and at home.” When he said this, he gave my hand a squeeze, and I hoped no one was looking at me because I turned bright red.

After a long enough pause, Will (ever impatient, apparently) asked, “Can we eat now?”

Harry held his glass up with a, “Cheers,” and we all clinked our champagne flutes together.

The seven-course menu was delicious. Everything came out in those trendy small displays so it didn’t even make me feel fat. Also, there were two desserts, and they were both scrumptious. All of the courses were paired with different wines, plus we were drinking the champagne as well, so I was surprised that I seemed to be the only one teetering on my heels as we left the restaurant. 

When we got back to the hotel, we turned on A New Year’s Rockin’ Eve and William opened another bottle of champagne. I wasn’t sure why, but I absolutely loved watching my family get along so well with the Royals. It became clear, however, that I wasn’t the only one who had a little too much booze when I saw my mom talking to Kate. Kate, of course, was listening earnestly with a kind smile. “It’s a beautiful ring,” I overheard my mother saying. Then, turning to William, she said, “I can remember when your father gave it to your mother.” 

I noticed that her voice was starting to get choked up and instantly swooped in before she could start a rousing rendition of “Candle In The Wind.” “Okay Mom, that’s enough,” I let out a tense laugh, throwing my arm around her shoulders and steering her away from Will and Kate. “Maybe you’re done with the champagne,” I suggested.

My mom wiped under her eyes. “That reminds me, Roxanna Nicole.” Usually when she used both of my names, it meant I was in trouble. “If that boy is going to be your boyfriend, you need to let your mother know.”

“That boy?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s twenty-three.”

“That’s not really the point,” my mom glared at me.

I shrugged. “Well I don’t have anything to tell you right now.” I could have told her about what Harry and I had discussed the other night, but I knew she’d freak out. If I was going to tell her about it, I’d rather tell her over the phone, where she wouldn’t harass me, and more importantly start to cry. “But Ma, you’ve got to calm down.”

My mom ignored my last request and gripped my arm. I felt like I was being clamped into some medieval torture device. “Roxanna Nicole. You’re too young, but I remember what happened to Diana.”

_Not this again._ “Ma, please, can we talk about this some other time?”

My mom tucked an unruly wisp of black curls behind my ear. “You’re just like your father. You get lost in the moment, too passionate.” On the contrary, I thought that I was the opposite of what she was describing. I’d met Harry three months ago and we were just now talking about starting a relationship. Most girls in my position would have chomped at the bit when he’d first brought it up. Besides, my father was an ass hole who I hadn’t seen since I was eight. “She _suffered_ , Roxy,” my mom broke back into my thoughts, obviously talking about Harry’s mother again.

I gave my own mother a flat look. “Mom. Look at Kate. Does she look like she’s suffering?” Right as I said that, Kate tilted her head back, laughing at something William had said. He reached forward and pulled her into him just a little. No suffering there. “It’s not 1982.”

Before my mom could say anything crazy back, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and Harry told me there were only a few minutes until the New Year. “Want to join me on the balcony?”

“I’d love to,” I smiled at him and let him lead me outside. “Holy shit it’s cold!”

Chuckling, Harry wrapped his thick wool coat around both of us. “I’m glad we talked,” he murmured into my hair.

I rested my head on his chest. He always smelled so good. How did he do that? “So am I,” I sighed. Then, looking up at him, I tilted my head to one side. “Isn’t this weird?”

“Isn’t what weird?”

Giggling, I answered, “I don’t know. I feel like Cinderella.”

Harry considered this. “See, here’s the problem I’ve always had with Cinderella.” I smirked, waiting for him to theorize. “The prince in that story gets far too much credit. If you think about it, all the work was done by Cinderella, and her mouse friends, and her Fairy Godmother. Her ‘people,’ so to speak.” In this analogy, Bianca would be the mice friends, Kate the Fairy Godmother. My heart warmed. “The prince just had to show up to the ball.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I agreed slowly. “But what if he hadn’t?”

“If he hadn’t, I’m fairly confident that Cinderella, her mice, and her Fairy Godmother could have all moved into a little flat in Chelsea and starred in a reality television show about being three successful career women.” When I laughed, Harry continued. “Or, who knows, Cinderella could have ended up at 10 Downing Street.”

“Or been a prima ballerina in a professional dance company?”

“Exactly. All with no prince.”

“Well good for her. But I want my prince.” I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his. When I was standing back down on my flat feet, Harry pressed our foreheads together. Our breath appeared in foggy puffs between us.

“Whoa, sorry,” Kate giggled, coming out on the balcony with us. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No interruption, Catherine,” Harry said tersely. I added to Kate's gigglea as everyone else came out on the balcony. We looked out as the entirety of Times Square started counting down. I leaned back against Harry, feeling him all warm and strong and holding on. When the ball hit the ground, I whipped around and planted a kiss on him. He pressed our lips together even stronger. 

When all of the couples pulled away, Kate leaned over the balcony and shouted, “It’s 2011! I’m getting married this year!”

A few balconies away, a group of women recognized Kate and started squealing, “Omigod!” and snapping pictures. In a rare display of something other than contempt for people who tried to photograph her, Kate waved to them.

Shivering, I looked at Harry. “Wanna go to bed?” He nodded, tapped my bottom, and marched me into our room.

*** 

On New Year’s Day, the ladies went shopping and Ray showed Harry and Will the EPSN Zone. By the end of the day, I was pretty exhausted, even though I hadn’t bought much. I yawned as we got out of the cab in front of the hotel, thinking that I wanted to get back to school, lay in my bed in the dorm and gossip with Bianca about the trip. We were out at dinner when I leaned into Harry. He wrapped his arm around me and I sighed, “I’m ready to go home now.”

“Home?” he asked. I nodded, smiling up at him. “We’ll be back soon enough.” We were leaving the next night. Harry and Will had to get back up north for work so we had to go back early. I could have stayed, since school didn’t start for another two weeks, but Grace, Ray, and Eddie were going back to Boston and my mom would go back to work, and I’d have nothing to do in Jersey. Bianca, apparently, was dying of boredom at home and was ecstatic that I’d be back soon.

That night at the hotel I hugged my family goodbye. While I was out of earshot of the Royals, Grace gripped my shoulder. “Just tell me real quick, did you get an invite to the wedding?”

“Grace!” I hissed.

My mom waved a hand. “Grace, don’t bother her about that.”

“You are so annoying!” she complained at me.

“Yeah, that’s gonna make me want to tell you,” I shook my head.

Trying to dissolve the fight, my mom gave me a warm hug. “I love you, Roxy. I’m so glad I got to see you.” Then, holding me at arm’s length, she gave me a stern look. “Be careful, Rox. Okay? Tell me you’ll be careful.”

I nodded. “I promise, Mom.” 

Turning to the Royals, she continued her goodbyes. “Thank you so much for this trip, Harry. It was lovely to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Harry assured her.

“Feel free to visit us across the pond any time,” my mom said, and then opened her arms wide for a hug. Oh Jesus…I watched from between my fingers as she gave him another warm embrace. Things only got worse when she did it to Kate, and William. I wasn't sure why I was so embarrassed by my mother, I thought I'd grown out of that stage. She was just acting so... _familiar_ with them. “I hope you liked New York City,” she said to Kate.

Grinning, Kate nodded. “Oh, I _loved_ it, we’ll have to come back.”

“You be careful in those helicopters,” she insisted of Will.

He nodded. “I will, promise.”

“Good, because you’ve got a pretty important gig to show up to in a few months,” she reminded him.

“God, a few months. Can you believe it?” Kate asked, turning to William. He shook his head and looked genuinely shocked for a minute. 

After I gave Eddie a huge squeezing hug goodbye, Harry and I laced our fingers together and headed back up to the room. Will and Kate’s room was actually next to ours, and through a door on one side of the living room we could open it up into their suite. Will had a minder, too, named Jamie, who was always with him. I felt better that Paolo had someone to chat with now. We sat around on the couch in front of the TV, talking about tomorrow. Since all four of us were going, Harry and Will had commissioned the royal jet. Kate was telling me all about it’s splendor, but when she was done, I sighed and leaned against Harry’s shoulder, like I had in the restaurant. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

Shrugging, I answered, “I guess I have post-holidays depression.”

“Is that a clinical diagnosis?” William asked with a smart-ass smirk.

I glared at him. “Seasonal depression is a serious thing, Will.”

“Even if it is,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his beer, “I don’t think you’ve got it.”

“Okay well, maybe not. But now it’s those parts of the winter that I hate, when it’s just cold all the time and there’s nothing to look forward to,” I told the Royals. “I mean, what’s next?”

Kate’s mouth dropped open and I immediately realized my faux pas. I was trying to cover my tracks when she shook her head. “No, the damage is done. Did you hear that Willy? She called our wedding ‘nothing.’”

“No, I didn’t mean that!” I laughed, trying to correct myself.

Kate sniffed and looked away from me. “No, it’s no use. You’ve done it now.”

“Okay, okay, so the wedding, but there aren’t any holidays between then!” I pointed out. “No big ones anyway. Just stupid Valentine’s Day.”

“It doesn’t have to be stupid anymore. You won’t be single for this one,” Kate smirked at me.

And with that, I got up, said good night, and went to bed. Harry followed me shortly after and we got undressed and slipped into bed. When I giggled, Harry raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Um…nothing.”

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Tell me.”

“Harry, it’s nothing, really.” Harry, of course, couldn’t let it go. Before I could fight him off, he was tickling me all over. “No!” I shrieked, certain that if Will and Kate were still in the common area they’d be concerned. Through my gasps I got out, “Harry, stop!”

“Surrender!” he demanded.

“I surrender!” Harry stopped tickling, but he had practically tackled me and had me pinned on my back. He gave me a strong kiss on the mouth before letting his mouth trail down behind my ear, below my jaw, and down my neck. “I can’t tell you if you keep doing that,” I shivered. 

“All right, all right, I’ll stop,” he replied begrudgingly. Then, propping himself up above me, he waited for me to explain.

I started blushing before I even said what I was thinking. “It’s just that…I mean, I’ve had boyfriends before and everything. But I’ve never…you know… shared a bed. With a man.” 

Sweetly, Harry smiled down at me tenderly before burying his face in my neck. “You smell delicious,” he told me. It wasn’t the first time he’d commented on my scent.

“Yeah, I think that’s some weird caveman attraction thing,” I replied.

He snapped his head back up. “How can you say something so sweet one moment and then something so weird the next?” he asked with a grin.

Giggling, I shrugged. “That’s how I get all the eligible bachelors.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry rolled over back to his side of the bed and patted the mattress next to him. I sat up and cuddled up against him, resting my head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around me. “There’s a holiday in January, but you probably haven’t heard of it.”

“Hm?” I asked, feeling sleepy.

“It’s St. Dwynwen’s Day,” he explained. “It’s Welsh, and legend goes that Dwynwen was the daughter of a king named Brychan Brycheiniog.” I lifted my eyes to his, curious to hear the rest of the story. “Now, Brychan Brycheiniog had already picked out someone for Dwynwen to marry, as kings are wont to do,” he explained, gesturing with his hand. “But she met a man named Maelon and fell in love. Naturally, Brychan Brycheiniog did _not_ like this.”

“Naturally,” I nodded with a smirk.

“So he forbid them to marry, and Maelon got so upset, that he thought that if he couldn’t make Dwynwen his wife by marrying her, he could do it by taking her virtue, and then they’d have to get married. Pretty sound logic, if you ask me.” I laughed, remembering Harry’s version of historical events when he’d given me the tour of London. He was probably doing a lot of editorializing here. “Dwynwen wasn’t a fan of this plan, and she put up a fight and broke free. Maelon was so angry with her that he told her he never wanted to see her again.”

Rolling my eyes, I responded, “Just like a man.”

Harry kissed my temple and continued. “So, broken hearted and weeping, Dwynwen ran away into the woods. An angel came to her that night and gave her a potion that would cool her desire for Maelon by turning him into a block of ice. While Dwynwen was still cross with him, she didn’t want to turn into a block of ice, so when the angel offered her three wishes, her first wish was for Maelon to be thawed. Her second wish was to be the patron saint of lovers, and to console others through the sadness of love. And she used her third wish to erase Maelon from her memory.”

I let out a gasp. “So she couldn’t even remember him?’

Shaking his head, Harry answered, “Nope. Never.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I let out a huff. “That wasn’t a very good story.”

“Why not?” Harry laughed.

“It had a terrible ending! Fairy tales are supposed to end with, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’ Preferably with a ride on a white horse, into the sunset.”

“Well I’m very sorry to have disappointed you,” he apologized.

“Yeah well…just don’t let it happen again.” Laughing, Harry gave me a peck on the mouth and we started making out again.

Chapter Nineteen: Research


	19. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Thank the good Lord. I was about to die of boredom,” Bianca blurted out, throwing her arms around me and putting all of her weight on me in gratitude. 

I rolled my eyes. “Bianca, you live in a castle. If you were bored, that was your own fault.”

Pulling away from me, she narrowed her eyes into slits and accused, “You sound like my mum.” She paused for a second before apparently getting over her annoyance towards me and demanding, “Tell me all about the trip!”

“Okay, but can I put my suitcase down first?” I asked. 

“I guess,” Bianca appeased me, and we went back to the room I was staying in. While I unpacked and tossed dirty clothes into a laundry basket, I told Bianca about the trip, including the conversation Harry and I had about our relationship. “So then…you’re together?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I guess. There are no labels on it or anything. Nothing’s changed, except we kiss now.”

When I turned around, Bianca raised an eyebrow and asked, “ _Just_ kiss?”

“Yes, _just_ kiss,” I assured her. “This whole thing is already messy enough. I don’t want to have sex and make it even more complicated.”

Bianca scoffed. “I give it a week before he’s got your knickers off.”

“Did you just use the word ‘knickers?’” I asked, amused. Bianca gave me a guilty smirk and I sighed. “Anyway, it was a good trip. Besides the part where Grace practically turned me into Charles Manson when she found out Paolo had a gun.”

“Yeah. Awkward.”

“Super awkward!” I insisted. “It was like Harry being a prince was this huge elephant in the room and then she decided that she was just gonna go ahead and bring it up.” Bianca giggled. “Oh, and you should have _heard_ my mother. I had to intercept her from mourning Lady Di on New Year’s Eve.”

“That would have been interesting,” Bianca noted.

I turned around from my mountain of dirty laundry to face her. “Do you remember any of that?”

She blinked. “Any of what?”

“Any of the drama? I sort of only remember her looking pretty.” I paused, trying to scratch my memory. “I remember her at the White House, and with children who had been injured by land mines, and I remember the funeral. But the way my mom talks about it, it’s like, this Greek tragedy.”

Bianca bit down on her bottom lip. “Well, it wasn’t good.” I let out a huff and she added, “But it was a long time ago, and it’s over now. I mean, it has to be.”

“See, that’s the thing,” I pointed out, tossing a balled up sweater on top of the pile. “If my parents hadn’t divorced, maybe I wouldn’t have escaped to the ballet studio, and maybe Grace wouldn’t have escaped into her…whatever she was doing. I mean, the things that happen to you when you’re young stay with you for a long time.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Bianca muttered, and I wondered if she was thinking of her own parents. Before I could ask her, she went on, “So what are you saying?”

Shrugging, I admitted, “I don’t really know.” Until I knew what I was saying, I decided to shelve this subject and gestured to my mountain of clothes. “Where can I do that?”

“Do what?” Bianca asked.

“The laundry.”

Bianca waved a hand. “Oh, we have people to do that.”

My stomach clenched. “Okay, but I seem to have a case of liberal guilt, so I’m just gonna go ahead and do it myself.”

“Why?” Bianca blanched, semi-disgusted. I laughed at her for a good couple of minutes before picking up the phone that I knew dialed to the staff quarters. That was the way it worked at KP. Now I was just one of those people who knew things like that. A month ago this had seemed completely foreign to me and now I was practically a natural.

I got a member of the staff to show me to the laundry room, and she stood there anxiously as I sorted my darks, lights, and whites. “Are you sure you don’t want any help, miss?” she asked. Her accent was different from the Royals’ and Bianca’s.

“I’m fine,” I told her, before asking, “Where are you from?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before answering, “Yorkshire. It’s in the north.”

“Oh, cool,” I gave her a friendly smile to put her at ease. She seemed unsure of whether or not she should be talking to me.

“I guess you should probably be learning these things,” she shrugged. It came out, “Ah guess ya should probably be learnin’ these things.”

“Yeah, I’ve been here long enough,” I agreed, turning the water on and starting to fill the washing machine.

“And if you’re going to be in The Family,” she added. My body turned several degrees below freezing and I guess it must have shown on my face because she immediately corrected herself. “I was just joking. Not that you’d be in the Royal Family or anything. It was stupid, forget I said anything.”

I cleared my throat. “No, forget it, it’s fine,” I assured her, and went back to my clothes.

The girl stood there awkwardly. “You know, Diana used to always hang out in the kitchen with her staff.”

Smiling, I asked, “Really?”

She nodded. “Mhm. She liked to gossip.”

Laughing, I admitted, “I can believe that.”

“But they made her stop when she married in. The cooks at Buckingham Palace don’t like to be looked in on.” 

“No, I don’t imagine they would,” I agreed, and dumped my darks into the washing machine.

***

I was tired from all of the travelling, but I couldn’t get to sleep that night. I was feeling a strange combination of emotions, one of which was guilt. As I thought back to the first time Harry had mentioned his mother to me, I cringed. I didn’t know how to talk to him about that. Nothing that tragic had ever happened to me, or to anyone I knew. Was I supposed to empathize? Because I couldn’t. On the other hand, I was afraid that sympathy would just come off as phony pity. The frustrating thing was that my mother had no problem handling this situation like a normal person. She just said, “I’m sorry,” and that was that. So why was it so hard for me to say that?

Rolling over, I fluffed my pillow before sighing back down to rest on it. Maybe I was making mountains out of molehills. Maybe Harry didn’t talk to me about his mom because it had happened a long time ago. Maybe he’d made peace with what had happened and it just didn’t have the affect on him that I was assuming it did…but that didn’t seem likely. As I’d told Bianca, there were so many ways in which my parents’ marriage had influenced who I was, what I did, and my relationship with other people. It wasn’t conscious, but it was there. How could Harry and I have never talked about something so fundamental to who he was?

Or maybe we didn’t need to have any conversation at all. What was the point in looking back, in telling each other our horror stories of broken homes? I rarely went to those places, even when I was alone, because the truth was that, even though the last time I’d seen my dad was more than ten years ago, when I thought about those memories, they made me so sad I felt like I could cry for days. Why make myself miserable, and Harry miserable, by going there?

_Because you don’t want to go there again_ , my subconscious came up with the answer. A relationship with Harry was a commitment. If I was going to make that commitment, it was going to be with the understanding that we weren’t a fling. Which meant that I couldn’t spend the entirety of our relationship afraid that Harry would drop me one day with no warning or explanation, and he had to rest assured that I wouldn’t do…well, whatever it was that his parents had done to each other. Which meant that I had to find out what that was. I was groaning when my phone rang. When I saw that it was Harry, I instantly felt guilty, but I wasn’t sure why. It felt like I’d been talking about him behind his back or something. “Hi.”

“Why hello there.”

I forced out a smile, even though he couldn’t see me. “Why aren’t you asleep?” I asked. 

“Why aren’t you?” he repeated my own question back to me.

“I asked you first,” I retorted childishly.

“Ah. You’ve got me there. I’m bored,” he whined slowly. Normally I would giggle and say something witty back but now I just twirled a strand of black hair around my index finger and thought about whether or not there was a nice way to say, “So, tell me about your inner demons.” I guess I was supposed to say something, because when I didn’t Harry asked, “Am I boring you now?”

“What? Oh, no. Sorry. I was just thinking about something else.”

“What?”

“Um…nothing. Anyway, what were you saying?”

Harry and I chatted, having a totally normal conversation, but I still kept feeling guilty. I didn’t know why, I just felt like I was keeping a secret from him. So when we hung up, I figured that if I was feeling guilty anyway, I may as well have a good reason, and called my mom. “Ma? Hi, it’s me.”

“Roxanna Nicole! I told you to call me when you got back!”

Damn, I’d forgotten. “Sorry.”

“Do you know what I start thinking when I don’t hear from you? That there’s been some sort of plane crash or something!”

“Okay well if all of the royals went down in a fiery crash, don’t you think you’d hear about it?” I asked. My mom was silent and I didn’t wait for her to respond. “Anyway, I kind of…um…have to ask you something. And you can’t put your own spin on it, you have to answer me honestly.”

She paused before slowly answering, “Okay.”

“I think…I think I need to know more about Harry’s mother.”

My mom was quiet for a while. “Well, I think that would probably be a good idea. Are you going to have that conversation with him?”

“No. Not yet, at least,” I told her. Well, I guess I’d made up my mind.

“If you want to know, don’t you think he’d probably be the best person to ask?” she pointed out.

“Not really,” I answered. “He can’t give me an objective opinion of his own mother. Besides, I don’t want to make him talk about all that stuff if he doesn’t want to, and I’m assuming he doesn’t. I mean, I don’t want to talk about what happened with Dad.”

My mom paused before delicately suggesting, “Don’t you think there’s a difference between what happened with your father and what happened with Harry’s mother?” She didn’t wait for me to answer before she continued, pointing out, “You know Roxy, some people like talking about these things. It’s therapeutic.”

“If I _do_ eventually talk to him about it, I want to know what I’m talking about,” I told her, “and I have no idea. From what I hear from you and Bianca, it’s not good.”

“Well I don’t know what you want me to tell you, honey,” my mother sighed. “I don’t really have any more of a clue than you do. The only people who will ever really know what went wrong in the marriage are Charles and Diana. Or, as you call him, father-in-law.”

“Ha, ha,” I laughed sarcastically. “What about that book I gave you? I mean, Tina Brown knew all about Diana, didn’t she?”

“I guess,” she agreed. “I’d also read the book by Andrew Morton. Oh, and watch the Martin Bashir interview.”

“Isn’t Martin Bashir the guy who got Michael Jackson on camera talking about how he has sleepovers with little kids?” I asked.

“Yeah. This was before that.” My mom paused for a minute, but I knew that she was thinking about something so I stayed quiet. “You might not want to know about this stuff, once you know it.”

I sighed. “You’re probably right.”

***

Since Bianca and I had two more weeks of winter break, I took the time to research Harry and his dysfunctional family. I started with reading the Tina Brown book I’d gotten for my mom for Christmas. Bianca’s mother had a copy, and she seemed surprised when I asked if I could borrow it. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to read something a little less…depressing?” she asked. I forced out a smile and told her I was sure. After the first couple of chapters, I learned that it was safest to read it with a box of tissues near by. It wasn’t that Princess Diana’s life had been awful and tragic or anything, but it was hard to read about a marriage where one person had never loved the other one. It reminded me of being little, of Grace covering my ears while my parents shouted at each other downstairs in the kitchen. The book also went into explicit detail about her relationship with William. Her relationship with Harry was very different. I knew that it was because he was younger, and because she felt like William needed someone more since he had more responsibility, but it worried me that Harry had felt shut out or ignored.

After _The Diana Chronicles_ , I hunkered down with a book that Diana had actually dictated to a journalist named Andrew Morton. This one was a lot worse, and not just because it was sadder. Since I’d already read a book full of other people’s accounts of her, I had accepted the fact that Harry’s mother hadn’t been perfect. This book made it clear that she had manipulated other people, be they her friends, her family, or the press. It tugged at my heart while I tried to reconcile my image of her with the person she had actually been.

That being said, there were quite a lot of reasons for Diana to be depressed. A lot of the information made me think back to when my mother had said, “She _suffered_.” It sure sounded to me like she had. I was eighteen years old. Diana had gotten engaged to Prince Charles when she was nineteen. I couldn’t _imagine_ what that must have been like. She’d had two children by the time she was twenty-three, and she was locked in a marriage with one of the most powerful men in the world, who didn’t love her and wasn’t shy about it. How could anyone have survived something like that?

“So is it working?” Bianca asked one night. She was watching _Pop Idol_ and I was dabbing under my eyes with a tissue reading the Andrew Morton book.

“Huh?” I asked, looking up.

“Is it working? Whatever you were trying to do by researching Diana?”

To answer that question, I probably had to figure out what it was I was trying to do. I guess I’d been trying to figure out Harry more, and maybe it was working, but it was also making me feel incredibly sad for everything he had endured. I was sure that Harry would be _thrilled_ that I was pitying him. “I don’t think so,” I admitted.

Bianca didn’t look surprised. “In that case, since this whole thing was to try and learn more about Harry, then you may actually have to ask Harry.”

“Ask Harry what?”

“I don’t know! Whatever it is you wanted to know about when you started reading these depressing stories!” Bianca gestured to the book in my hands.

“I can’t just _ask_ him to tell me all about his depressing youth,” I told her with a flat look. 

Bianca rolled her eyes. “His depressing youth? Oh? Was it oh so very hard for him inside his _castle_?” I closed the book and got up to go to my room. Bianca hadn’t been reading what I’d been reading so she didn’t know just how bad it was, but I hardly cared. His mother had died. How dare she make light of it like that? “Oh, come off it, don’t be angry.”

“You know Bianca, I would never let Harry talk about you like that,” I told her.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying that, you know, he didn’t have a hard time sometimes as a kid, but so did I. So did you! I don’t look back at my childhood like it was some awful time. It was great, I was happy for the most part, and I think probably so was Harry. So if you want to know something, just ask him. He’d probably appreciate it more than you trying to read up on him.” Well, she had a point there. I definitely wasn’t telling Harry that I’d been reading the books. 

The point was, something had to change, because the truth was that I was sort of starting to get depressed reading all of this stuff. It was sad, and it was reminding me of my own parents fighting into the early hours of the morning, of my dad packing his bags, slamming the door behind him, and never coming back. If we had been at school, I would have been able to shut my brain off and dance, but that wasn’t an option right now. So I spent most days reading about the deterioration of the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and remembering the ruin of the marriage of Marci and Santiago DeLaSearle – all day just stewing in all of this depressing information. It definitely wasn’t the healthiest way to be spending my time.

It wasn’t long before Bianca got sick of my moping. “Roxy, we have got to find something to do. I can’t sit around here all day watching you mourn Princess Diana.”

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

She thought about it for a second before picking up her phone. “This is Bianca Winchester. Yes, I’d like to speak to Harry please. Thank you.”

“What are you doing?” I practically shouted. I’d sort of been dodging Harry’s calls here and there…

Bianca just held her hand up to me and waited for Harry to pick up. “Hey, it’s me. We’re bored. Want to do something? Okay, cool, we’ll be over later. See you.” She hung up and turned to me with a satisfied smile. “There. We have plans.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You just called Harry and invited us over to his house.”

“Yup. Now come on, get packed for the weekend and we’ll head back into the city.”

There was no use arguing with her, and I didn’t mind getting back into the city. Plus, after reading all of these horrible stories I desperately wanted to pull Harry into me, kiss him all over, and tell him that everything was okay now…although that would probably be strange, since he had no idea that I was doing my research. 

By six o’clock Bianca and I were already over at KP, just having missed the rush-hour traffic on our way back into London. We parked in the garage and I saw that Will and Kate weren’t home – probably away on a little holiday before the wedding. I figured Harry would be at the apartment and walked in through the garage entrance. The lights were all off in the kitchen and the rest of the house seemed empty and quiet. “Hello?!” I called. “Harry? Are you home?” No one responded. I turned to Bianca, who shrugged. Figuring that if we were trespassing we would have been tackled by a member of the staff by now, I headed up the stairs, turning some lights on as I went.

“Are we supposed to be in here when they’re not here?” Bianca asked in a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “but we haven’t been tasered yet so I think we’re good.” We walked down the long second-floor hallway and I opened the door to the blue room, where Bianca would be spending the next few days. She had just tossed her things on the bed when my phone buzzed. Seeing that it was Harry, I answered with a, “Where are you?”

“I’m at my dad’s apartment. It’s just across the way. Come over here and we’ll figure out what to do tonight,” he offered.

My initial reaction was going to be, _Are you insane?_ but I kept my mouth shut long enough to hold that one in. “Is your dad home?”

“No, of course not, Fox. I have to go, I’m finishing up getting measured for my uniform for the wedding. Come over the way, I’ll see you.”

He hung up before I could say anything else and I shook my head. “Apparently we have to go across the way for a minute,” I told Bianca.

“Why?” she asked curiously, getting up off the bed and following me down the hall.

“I don’t know, he’s getting measured at Prince Charles’s apartment for his uniform for the wedding.” When I opened the front door of the apartment, it had started to rain. Bianca and I took hands and made a break for it. When Harry said “across the way,” he meant across the wide gravel road that twisted and turned all around Kensington, leading from the apartments to other parts of the palace. We ran up the concrete steps of the stoop before knocking on the apartment door. This was one place that I _wouldn’t_ feel comfortable just walking into.

When the thick oak doors were opened, it was by a man in black trousers and a dark red blazer with the crest of Windsor etched over one breast pocket. He didn’t say anything, just looked at the two girls getting rained on outside the door, waiting for us to explain our presence. We hadn’t even said anything and he already looked like our mere existence was annoying him. “Hi, we’re here to see Harry.”

The man raised an eyebrow and his nostrils flared ever-so-slightly. “You mean His Royal Highness Prince Harry?”

Bianca choked back a giggle behind me. Without looking, I reached back and smacked her lightly. “Right. Him. Is he here, by any chance?”

The man rolled his eyes and opened the door wider. When Bianca and I stepped in I was suddenly aware of all of my limbs. I idly wondered what it would cost if I broke something in here. Probably my head. “His Royal Highness is up the stairs, down the hall and the third door on the left.”

_Holy crap._ Why were there so many halls and doors in this place? And so many men who looked at me like I was pond scum? I thanked him and Bianca and I headed up the wide, well-lit staircase. There were portraits on the wall of the Queen, and other historical looking things. There were gold clocks on end-tables, porcelain figurines that probably cost a fortune. I could have sworn I spotted a Faberge egg. The place _smelled_ like money. “Oh my God,” Bianca hissed at me.

“Why are you whispering?” I asked, even though I was whispering, too.

“I don’t know, it just seems like I should be whispering.”

I agreed wih her, but didn’t say as much out loud. “I don’t understand why he told us to come over if he wasn’t going to be there.”

“He probably didn’t think he’d be here that long,” Bianca offered. “Can you believe this place? It looks like a museum. I feel like…oh my God.” She reached out and gripped my elbow to stop me. 

I nearly tripped and stumbled backwards. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed. Bianca was just pointing, opening and closing her mouth to something in the distance. When I looked, I saw that Harry’s dad had just come out of a room.

“And Harry, don’t forget to ask them to make the cuffs wide,” he was saying over his shoulder.

_Holy crap, he’s tall._ Why hadn’t I expected him to be so tall? I didn’t see much of Harry in him, but I could definitely see William. That surprised me, too. He looked older than I expected him to look. I guess I’d expected him to look the way he’d looked when he and Diana had gotten married, since I’d watched the wedding a thousand times, but - like a normal human - he had gotten older. 

My brain was experiencing some weird reaction to Harry’s father. My mother had all but brainwashed me into believing that he was just as responsible for Diana’s death as anyone. Never mind the drunk driver or the paparazzi chasing her down a tunnel at (literally) break neck speed. She never would have been there if not for Charles’s cold demeanor, his humiliating extramarital affairs, his admission to never having loved her to Martin Bashir. I was shocked to be standing in front of Harry’s father, knowing that it should have been an honor, despising the stories I’d heard, and terrified that he could read my mind. (He couldn’t, right? Like, they didn’t actually have superpowers or anything…did they?)

_Oh Jesus. What do I do?_ I knew there were things you were supposed to do, rules you had to follow, when you met the Queen. What about Prince Charles? All of my thoughts were crashing into one another and when he looked up and saw Bianca and I. It felt like there was a ten-car pile up in my brain. His eyebrows rose in surprise and he called out, “Harry? Were you expecting guests?” 

I heard a distinct four-letter word and some crashing about before Harry came out of the room Prince Charles had emerged from, half dressed in a pair of black pants that had pins and chalk lines all over them and a white t-shirt. Prince Charles had made it to us in about three strides. I knew that the whole apartment smelled like money, but Prince Charles really did. It was a nice scent, if unfamiliar. Bianca nudged my elbow, motioning for me to follow her lead. “Your Royal Highness,” she stated, shaking his hand when he offered it. I watched her put her right foot behind her left, curtsy, and slightly bow her head. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Bianca Winchester.”

“Winchester? Earl Winchester’s daughter?” Prince Charles asked. When Bianca nodded, he gave her a sympathetic look. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a good man.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bianca smiled gratefully at him.

Prince Charles turned to me and, feeling like someone had shoved a sabre through my tummy, I curtsied like Bianca. “I’m Roxy,” I stated dumbly.

Prince Charles raised an eyebrow. “Roxy? The woman I hear my son has been spending so much time with?” His voice was extremely soothing. When I was little, I used to have these cassette tapes of readings of fairy tales that I’d fall asleep to. Prince Charles’s voice reminded me of how calming those tapes had been. 

“Yes, your…” _Honor? Majesty?_

Bianca coughed into her hand a cough that sounded suspiciously like, “Highness.”

“Your Highness.”

He looked from me to Harry and back again. “Well, you seem to be keeping him out of trouble.” I wasn’t sure what to say to this, so I just smiled and nodded. “Are you two ladies here for the weekend?”

“Yes, sir,” Bianca spoke up. “We were just getting a little bored at home so we decided to pop in for the weekend.”

“Oh yes. Quite. Well the two of you should join me for dinner Sunday.”

“Papa, I don’t think they’re staying that late,” Harry interjected.

“Don’t be silly, Harry. Of course we can, sir.”

“Wonderful. It was lovely meeting you, Roxanna.”

How had I already become Roxanna, and not some random stranger? Again, I gave him the dumb smile and nod. Prince Charles smiled at us and gave me a subtle once over (probably trying to assess if I was good enough to be dating his son) before continuing down the hall. I assumed he waited until he was around the corner to wipe off the hand that he’d used to shake mine, probably with an embroidered handkerchief. That was approximately how long I’d waited before turning to face Harry. Just from the terrified look on his face I could tell that the expression on mine was adequate to how I was feeling. Instinctivly, Harry put his hands up in self-defense and took two steps backward. “Look, Roxy, I thought he’d be gone.” My glare didn’t lessen in intensity. “I thought I’d be done with this by now.” That didn’t work either. “It was an accident!”

“Accident?” I hissed out, taking a step toward him. Harry took one back for every one I took to him. “No Harry, an _accident_ is when you spill a glass of milk. An _accident_ is when you’re in a fender-bender. An accident is _not_ , ‘Here’s my father the _Prince of freakin’ Wales_!’” And with that, I turned on my heel and stormed off down the hallway, hearing Bianca follow me.

I wasn’t sure why, but as we were running back across the way to Harry’s apartment, I started to cry. I assumed it was out of humiliation. The hot tears stung my eyes as I slammed the front door behind us. Bianca was silent while my wet shoes squished down the hall and I opened the door to Harry’s room, yanking my bag off the bed. “Go on, get your things. We’re going,” I commanded, wiping the tears off my face.

“Roxy, just give him a chance to explain,” she advised, trying to calm me. “I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t care!” I shouted. Bianca jumped a little before nodding and going to the other room to get her stuff. I went with her and while she was stuffing her toothbrush back in her bag there was a timid knock on the door. Bianca turned around and looked at Harry, then at me. I showed no emotion indicating that I wanted him to come in, but Bianca opened the door wider anyway. 

“I’ll just…wait in the hall,” she told us softly, and left.

Harry sat down on the side of the bed in the blue room and looked up at me. I turned away from him. “Roxy, I know you’re angry. I get it. And I know it was mean of me to trick you like that.” _Well, at least he’s admitting it._ “But the truth is that you’re important to me. You’re this huge piece of my life, and my dad hasn’t even met you. I met your whole family!”

“My whole family is a school teacher in New Jersey,” I pointed out. But I could feel my resolve softening. Harry had a point. With a sigh, I sat on the bed next to him. “I understand, but Harry, that was humiliating for me. I didn’t know what to do or what to say.” It also hadn’t helped that I’d spent the past week reading about how he was an awful person.

Nodding, Harry promised, “I’ll warn you before you meet Gran,” with a smirk.

I tweaked his cheek and pressed my mouth to his. “Okay. I guess we’ll stay.” Harry made the “yes” motion with his fist and I told Bianca we weren’t leaving.


	20. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I ended up being glad that Bianca had decided we should go to Harry’s for the weekend. On Friday we went to a trivia night at a pub so close to KP we could walk. The bartenders knew Harry and weren’t weird about his being there. I’d read that in a lot of the places William and Harry went, the locals would get protective of them and not take pictures or anything. It was cozy and normal. Guy and Piers joined us and the five of us won trivia and therefore, free drinks for the rest of the night. It was just a night out with friends – drinking, laughing, telling funny stories. Every once in a while another person would join us, trying to hit on B or one of the guys. Guy wasn’t shy about letting the women at the bar know that he was there with Harry. More often than not he got shut down, which was hilarious to watch. By the time Harry and I crawled into bed, my face hurt from laughing so much.

On Saturday we woke up and went to brunch before taking a stroll around Kensington Gardens. Harry gave us more of his colorful anecdotes of history. The guys met up with us for dinner, and then we went to a movie before stopping by another pub on the way home. The four of them insisted that I try a Pimm’s cup, which ended up being delicious. The drinks should have helped me relax and get to sleep that night, but instead I was wide awake in Harry’s bed, tossing and turning, flipping my pillow while Harry slept soundly next to me. 

Annoyed, I shook him awake. “Huh? Wha?” he blinked, sitting up with a gasp.

“Look, if I’m not going to sleep, you’re not, either,” I told him.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought that only applies with alcohol when you’re pregnant. Which you’re not. Unless I’m very mistaken about biology.”

“Well it also applies when I have to have dinner with your dad tomorrow night.”

Checking the clock on his nightstand, Harry corrected me, “Tonight, actually, but okay.” With a sigh, he sat up and motioned for me to fold myself into the crook of his arm. 

“No! I don’t want to cuddle right now!”

“All right, have it your way,” he appeased me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would it help you if I told you that I was nervous to meet your family?”

Softening a little, I asked, “You were?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

Amused, I pressed more. “Why?”

“Why? Why was I nervous to meet the entire family of the girl that I’m sort of dating?” He shook his head. “You never know how people are going to react. I didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable around me. And I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain flying across the Atlantic for a girl who wasn’t even my girlfriend. What if your mum thought I was pretentious? What if Grace was disappointed that I wasn’t the heir? What if Eddie didn’t like someone new?” Shrugging, he explained, “It doesn’t matter who you are. Meeting someone’s parents is always dodgy, if you really like them.”

“Aw,” I smiled at him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned that wicked grin he had before joking, “I think you’re so-so.”

***

I hadn’t brought anything to wear with dinner to the heir apparent, so on Sunday I dragged Bianca out to get something new. “It’s not a state dinner, Roxy. It’ll be fine,” she tried to calm me. This, of course, was easy for her – she’d been having dinner with people like this her whole life. I, on the other hand…The most important meal I’d ever had, had been with the principle of my mom’s school at the annual Christmas party, and it was a potluck. Not exactly royalty. In the end, I settled on a pair of dark wash jeans and a green sweater.

Later that evening, Bianca and I were getting ready in her room. She was straightening her blonde locks while I was desperately trying to get my black curls under control. “I’m really not looking forward to this,” I complained.

B brushed lint off my shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, unsatisfied with her assurance. She and Harry had both been heavily delivering the, “You’ll be fine,” line and I didn’t believe either of them.

“Because you’ve _been_ fine. You were fine with Will and Kate,” she pointed out.

Well, that was true enough… “But Will and Kate are just Will and Kate. There’s no protocol there. With Prince Charles there are rules, and I don’t know any of them.”

“Roxy, calm down about the rules. You’re not a diplomat. You’re not even British. The rules don’t apply to you,” she told me.

“I know, but I don’t want to offend anyone,” I whined.

“Then you should probably stop calling Camilla the Rottweiler,” Bianca snickered.

I _was_ guilty of this habit. My mom had always called her that, because Harry’s mom had called her that. I wasn’t a huge fan of hers, as she appeared to be an unapologetic home wrecker. Ignoring this piece of advice, I complained some more. “It’s not fair. Why can’t I be dating someone with no rules?”

Laughing at this ridiculous complaint, Bianca tried a different approach. “All right, listen. If you’re worried about saying the wrong thing, just remember that this is the man who once told Camilla that he wanted to be her tampon. You can’t possibly say anything worse than that. Unless you bring it up. In which case, I’m sure you’ll be sent straight to the Tower.”

“Why thank you, Bianca. That’s really very comforting.”

Before she could try to help any more, Harry knocked on the door. “Are you ready?” he asked. “You should be. It’s just dinner. Not a private conference with the Pope.”

Bianca and I emerged from her room. “Might as well be,” I muttered. “Both will probably think I’m a blasphemous monster.”

“Papa doesn’t generally use that phrase. Way less than the Pope does, anyway,” Harry nudged my elbow while we headed across the street. “Don’t be nervous. It’ll be fine.” By the time Harry opened the door, I actually was a lot calmer than I thought I would be. It was here now. There was nothing I could do. I was either going to sink or swim.

The staff at KP was considerably kinder to me when I was with Harry. That's to say, they didn’t look at me like I was pond scum. Harry led us through the ornately decorated halls to a kitchen, where his father and step-mother were pouring glasses of wine. “Hey Papa.”

“Oh, hello Haz. Lovely to see you again, ladies,” he greeted us with a kind wave.

I went to bow but Bianca stopped me. “I thought we had to do that,” I whispered.

“Only when we shake hands,” Prince Charles corrected me, "and only in public."

I turned roughly the color of the sun. “Sorry. I don’t know all of the rules yet.”

“Of course not. You’re American,” Prince Charles allowed me with a wave of his hand. “Bianca, Roxanna, this is my wife, Camilla.”

Ok, so I wasn’t the biggest fan of the Duchess of Cornwall, but I wasn’t going to be a jackass when I met her for the first time…or probably ever, really. I wanted her to like me, even if I did think of her as the Rottweiler. When she held her hand out to shake, she gave me a look worse than the staff and when we pulled our hands back, she brushed hers together like she was brushing off my germs. I half expected her to pull a bottle of sanitizer out of her purse. “Yes. I suppose they don’t teach you these things in America.” Um…she had me there. I knew it was meant as an insult, but it was more of just a statement of fact. “Where are you from again?”

“New Jersey,” I answered, and tried to pretend that my voice didn’t break.

“Right. Harry went to New York City over New Years,” Prince Charles reminded her.

Before anyone could ask any more questions, a red-coated man stepped into the kitchen and informed us that dinner was ready...which was confusing because we were in the kitchen and I was pretty sure there was nothing cooking. I looked at Harry, who picked up on my confusion. “Oh, no, Papa doesn’t cook,” he smirked.

“I cook,” Prince Charles corrected him, offended.

“When? When have you cooked?” Harry provoked him.

Stalling, Prince Charles looked to Camilla for help. She only shrugged, amused. “I’ve…made baked beans.”

“You’ve baked a bean?” Harry asked him with a doubtful look. 

“I’m capable of things you’d never imagine,” Prince Charles joked. We headed into the dining room that was fancier than Harry and Wills’s, which I wouldn’t have thought possible before. The backs of the chairs were emblazoned with Prince Charles’s crest, which would be everywhere when he was king. _Don’t think about that, Roxy_ , I tried to calm myself. _Don’t think about having dinner with the future King of England._ I never thought of it that way with William, after all.

We sat, Prince Charles at the head, Camilla next to him, and Bianca next to her. Harry sat to his father’s left and I next to him, across from B. As soon as we were seated, red-coated staff placed salads in front of us. “Wine, miss?” a man asked me while pouring me a glass of water.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” It felt horribly awkward to be waited on in somebody’s home.

“So, Roxanna, am I to believe that you’re here studying at the Royal Ballet Academy?” Prince Charles asked.

Harry answered before I could. “You’re not to believe it, Papa. It’s true.”

“Thank you for that colourful answer, _Roxanna_ ,” Harry’s dad gave him a pointed look.

Snickering at Harry, I confirmed his answer. “Yeah, I’m at the RBA.”

“Yes, darling.”

I looked across the table at Camilla, and at the same time Bianca kicked me under the table. Wincing, I asked, “S…sorry?”

“You say ‘yes,’ dear. Never ‘yeah.’” She said this while she was giving me a smile that reminded me of a boa constrictor. Also, she sounded like Julie Andrews in . Was this chick for real?

“Oh. Well…then um…yes. _Yes_ , I’m at RBA.”

Like he was protecting me from Camilla, Harry reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “And how did that come about?” Prince Charles asked.

“I’ve been dancing ballet since I was three,” I started.

“My nephew just put his daughter into ballet. She’s just turned three. I wasn’t aware that three-year-olds could do ballet.” I knew that Prince Charles must have been talking about Princess Anne’s son, Peter Phillips. He was the only one with kids so far.

Shrugging, I said, “It worked well enough for me.”

“And what do your parents do?”

Ugh. Awkward. “My mom is a kindergarten teacher at a school back in Jersey. She’s been doing it for years.” I hoped the second sentence would take away from the fact that I hadn’t mentioned my other parent. “My sister Grace is a brain surgeon. She lives in Boston.”

Prince Charles looked surprised. “A brain surgeon and a ballerina? Well…those are two opposite ends of the spectrum, aren’t they?”

“We’re really different,” I acknowledged.

“Not _that_ different,” Harry disagreed. “You just look different.”

“Oh, we act different, too. Believe me,” I assured Harry. Then I explained to his father, “She’s a lot older than me.”

“Oh?” Prince Charles asked.

“Yeah. Oh, I mean, yes,” I stammered. My face turned crimson and I tried to babble on to get past the mistake. “She’s married and I have a nephew, Eddie. He’s wild.”

“I’m hoping to have grandchildren soon,” Prince Charles admitted.

“Papa, they’ve only just gotten engaged,” Harry reminded him. “Besides, you’ve got Eliza and Tom, and Lola and Freddy.” The kids he was naming were Camilla’s grandchildren.

“Yes, I know, and they’re adorable. So I would love something from your brother and my darling Kate.”

Harry laughed again. “Love something? They’re not baking a pie!”

Weary of Harry’s jokes at his expense, Prince Charles turned to Bianca. “And you dear? Have you been dancing as long as Roxanna here?”

“Almost, Your Royal Highness.”

Prince Charles waved a hand. “No need to be so formal. How old were you when you started?"

“I was five. My mum and dad signed me up because I had too much energy.”

Harry’s dad chuckled. “Yes, children can be quite energetic. Now, I wonder why you girls kept dancing?” he asked.

Bianca shrugged. “Every little girl wants to be a ballerina.”

“Yes, every little girl does, but not every girl grows up and actually becomes one. What made you girls stick with it?” he asked.

Opening and closing her mouth a few times, Bianca finally shrugged and looked to me for help. I struggled to find an answer to this question, too, but finally I just came out with it. “I don’t know. I guess…I guess I don’t speak for Bianca or any of the other girls, but for me, dancing is the only way my mind stays quiet. When you’re dancing, you have to follow the counts, and the steps, and listen to the music. When you’re dancing, you don’t have time to think about the test you just took, or the fight you got into with your mom that morning. When you’re dancing, you’re not thinking about all the things you shouldn’t have said, or all of the things you wish you’d said. When you’re dancing, you’re not thinking about what to wear, or if you need to lose five pounds. When you’re dancing, you’re dancing. And everything is quiet. And the world isn’t ending.” I was immediately embarrassed at my over-sharing and felt my face flame up. The rest of the table was entirely silent.

After a long pause, Prince Charles picked up his glass of wine and summed up, “Well. Those are all very good reasons, then.”

“I think so,” I nodded with a smile. Harry reached out and gave my knee a reassuring squeeze. I smiled back at him, enjoying the warmth of his palm through my jeans.


	21. Mummy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

We finished dinner at Harry’s dad’s and said good-bye. “It was an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, Roxanna,” he told me as we got ready to head back across the street. 

“You, too, sir,” I smiled at him. He was nothing like I thought he’d be – nothing like the man I’d been reading about in all the books. He was perfectly warm, he clearly loved his sons and cared about their happiness more than he cared about anything else. He asked all the same questions my mom would ask Harry, and it was a little fun to see Harry being in the squirming, embarrassed position that I usually occupied. 

When we went back across to Harry’s apartment, Bianca told us she was going to bed. It was a little early but we’d had a full weekend, followed by an extremely stressful dinner, so Harry and I did the same. When we were back in his room, Harry flopped down on the bed, and I was about to mimic him when a picture in a frame on his bedside table caught my eye. I reached out for it, but when I held it closer I realized that I’d seen it before. It was a black and white by Mario Testino of the boys and their mother. At the time it had just been meant to be an arty, sentimental picture. It wasn’t meant to have the tragic, haunting element that it had right now, in this moment. I ran my thumb over the glass, tracing each one of Harry’s freckles, the gaps where William’s teeth should have been. 

My mind suddenly flashed back to a night when I was little, I wasn’t sure when specifically. My parents had been fighting a lot, and my dad hadn’t been home in a while. Grace and I were in our parents’ seemingly huge bed, and Mom was reading us _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. Lucy had just stumbled into Narnia and was meeting Mr. Tumnus for the very first time. My mom finished the chapter, insisting that it was time for bed. Grace and I pleaded with her – just one more chapter! I didn’t know if I actually wanted one more chapter, or I was just desperate not to have to leave. The bed was warm with the heat from Grace and I under the covers. I had just taken a bath, and was settled into the crook of my mom’s arm. I could smell the floral scent of my shampoo while my mom read to us, her chin grazing my head. I was too warm, too sleepy, too comfy, too loved to move now. 

Mom was showing no signs of giving in when Dad suddenly appeared in the doorway. Grace and I blinked. Was he drunk? Was he angry? Was he leaving, this time for good? After what felt like an eternity of Grace and I holding our breaths, Dad’s face broke into a wide grin. “All right girls, _solamente uno mas_ ,” he granted and, kicking off his shoes, joined us on the bed. My mom’s mouth was agape while she watched him pluck the book out of her hands and start to read to us, giving her a peck on the mouth.

It was probably the last happy memory I had of my father.

“Harry.”

Lifting his arm from over his eyes, Harry peered at me sideways. “Yeah?”

I put the picture back down on his nightstand and lay down next to him on my side. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Frowning, Harry turned on his side so we were face-to-face. “Okay. What is it?”

Finding it impossible to look him in the eye for this, I focused instead down at our feet. “So… my mom seemed kind of concerned about…about some of the stuff that happened to your mother.”

“You mean with the press?” Harry asked, straightening up.

God, this was going to be humiliating. “Um…no. Well, yes, but also just about um….” The real answer was, “your dysfunctional family.” “How the position of your family might have…you know…intimidated her.”

Harry just nodded slowly. “I’m sure it did.”

_Okay, Roxy. Just get it out. Like pulling off a Band-Aid._ “And I felt weird asking you about everything that happened so I tried to read about it so I read all these books and it all sounds really depressing and fucked up and I had to tell you because not telling you felt like I was doing something awful.”

Harry waited a long time. It felt terrible, but I couldn’t blame him for thinking it over. It was a lot of information to process. He looked like he was waiting at a railroad for a train to pass, but it just kept coming. After forever, he finally asked, “Roxy, if you wanted to know, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I didn’t know how. Or what to say,” I shrugged. 

“So why are you bringing it up now?” he asked.

“Because I’ve been feeling guilty this whole time not telling you about it.” Harry nodded like he understood. “And because…now I sort of think we should talk about it.”

Harry didn’t have to say as much for me to know that he wasn’t into the idea. “Why?”

“Because…because that sort of shit matters, Harry. My dad left when I was ten, and I haven’t seen him since, and my parents fought a lot, and the ballet studio is the only place I could get to where people weren’t shouting at each other. And my recitals were the only times I saw them get along. And my dad’s side of the family is Spanish, which is why I have crazy hair, and it’s why on Christmas I crave paella, and why I can say every swear you can imagine in Spanish. And my dad’s family was Catholic, but he was an atheist, and so now I pray in Spanish to a god I don’t believe in. And when he left, a Natalie Merchant song was on the radio, and I hate that song now.” I took a deep breath. “All of those things are so much a part of who I am. I don’t like talking about them, I don’t even like thinking about them. The only time I ever really do is when I’m in the shower sometimes because that’s the only time I’m alone, so I can cry about it. And I wouldn’t ask except…”

_Except that I love you._ The thought didn’t hit me suddenly. It didn’t feel like anything, just something that had always been a part of me, like the birthmark in the shape of Africa that I had right above my belly button. The first time I’d met Harry I’d felt like I was being slowly pulled in two. It felt like that – like being slowly pulled apart while something tickled up my spine. “Except that I care about you. A lot. And I don’t want to be afraid that one day you’ll get up and go. And I don’t want you to be afraid that I’ll…do whatever it was that Princess Diana…your mom did.”

“But I know you won’t do any of that.”

“But I don’t.”

Harry blinked. “Believe me, Roxy, you won’t.”

“See! That, right there. That was cryptic, and I have no idea what you mean.”

“It’s not cryptic! Look, Roxy, what happened was a long time ago. I can’t even remember it all, to be honest.” Harry rolled over on his back so he wasn’t looking me in the eye. “I see where you’re coming from here, but…” Feeling the guilt pull at my heart, I realized that Harry was having his own Band-Aid moment. “I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me if I tell you all of that.”

I propped myself up on one elbow, brushing some errant orange wisps off his forehead. “Harry, you were just a kid,” I reminded him. “I won’t think anything bad of you.”

With a suspicious glance out of the corner of his eye, he asked, “How do you know?”

“Do you think less of me because my dad walked out on Grace and I?”

“No, it’s not…it’s not that.” He paused, fumbling with the strings on the hood of his sweatshirt. “I’ve never told anyone this. No one else has ever really asked.” His eyes flicked back up to me and, not for the first time, I had to stifle my gasp at how very much he resembled his mother. “Do you promise not to hate me?”

“Harry, why on earth would I hate you?” He opened his mouth to respond, but I shook my head. “Fine. If it makes you feel better, I promise.”

Harry stopped tangling his sweater strings and let his hands lie still at his sides. I waited for him to continue, not wanting to push him. “I don’t remember my parents ever being happy together. I remember them fighting, and I remember them apart, but they were never happy.” Finally, he turned to look at me. “Were yours?”

Taking in a deep breath, I nodded. “Yeah. They were. For a little while, at least. Grace probably remembers more of it than I do, but yeah. I can remember a lot of times when we – all four of us – were happy together.”

“Must have been nice,” Harry muttered sardonically. “Gran told us that they were getting a divorce. Our parents couldn’t even sit down and tell us together without wanting to kill each other. She told us that Mum and Dad would be living in separate places but that they loved each other, and they loved us, and that this was best for Will and I.” He scoffed. “And I thought, ‘They love each other? That’s what people who love each other do?’ It didn’t seem right.” He took a break from his story, thinking over something. “You’ve heard about how Will shoved tissues under the door for her when she got her HRH taken away?”

“Yeah.” I’d read that story in the books. After Harry’s parents got divorced, it meant that she would no longer formally be addressed as Her Royal Highness Diana, Princess of Wales. I wasn’t sure why the “Her Royal Highness” part mattered if she still got to keep the title of princess. “What does that mean?” I asked. “That she got her HRH taken away?” 

“It mostly meant that she’d never be Queen.”

“Will Camilla be Queen?” I asked.

Harry scoffed and shook his head. “I doubt that very much.” The dark clouds rolled in behind his eyes again.

“So…the tissues?” I prompted him.

“I was there, too. When she was crying and upset, I was there, too. Trying to make her laugh, to make her feel better. It never seemed to work.”

“Harry, you were just a kid. Of course you couldn’t fix any of that.”

It seemed like he ignored my consolation as he went on. “Everyone just always remembers it was William, because he was older, and because he’s the heir. You know, he used to have these private talks with Mum. They’d talk about what being king would be like, his responsibilities in life. Mum wanted the crown to skip Dad and go to Will, and then Will would tell me, because he didn’t want that. Honestly, Dad didn’t seem to care one way or the other.”

“Of course he did. He probably just wasn’t sure how to…act like everything was still normal.”

“Everything _wasn’t_ normal. ‘Normal’ was Mum screaming and locking Dad out of the bedroom. ‘Normal’ was Dad pounding on the door, red-faced and shouting at her to let him in because he was the Prince of Wales. Everything _wasn’t_ normal.” He paused again and I shut my eyes, feeling them sting with tears. My mind had already started conjuring up images of a little red-head, cowering while his parents threw insults at each other through a thick oak door in a palace where everything was breakable. 

“The press started calling it the War of the Windsors. Both of them started using the paparazzi to prove to the other that they were the better parent. Usually, my mum was the most fun on the face of the earth. She never let us complain that we were bored. When she read us a story, she did all the voices. She was the greatest mum in the world. But…there were times I started noticing that her love would get suffocating, and it seemed scary. Manic and contrived or something. And of course, Dad was telling Martin Bashir that she was crazy, and all of the kids at school were saying so. I hardly knew who to believe. And then James Hewitt happened.”

I hadn’t known about James Hewitt before I’d started reading the books. He was a horse-riding instructor that Harry’s mother had an affair with. It was a complete accident, an unfortunate coincidence that he also had red hair. It didn't help that it was widely known that an unpleased Prince Charles, who had wanted a girl, had noted upon seeing Harry for the first time, “Oh. He’s got ginger hair.” So immediately after Princess Diana had admitted an affair, the paternity rumors had started. The truth, of course, was that James Hewitt had never even met Princess Diana until Harry was already two-years-old, but that didn’t matter to the tabloids.

“I hardly knew what to think. And my parents just pretended like it didn’t exist. I was _eight_. How do you ask, ‘Are you my real father?’”

I shook my head, at a total loss.

“So I never brought it up.” Between “it” and “up,” Harry’s breath hitched. I wrapped an arm around his chest and held him as tight as I could. “William…Mum went to visit him at Eton right after it came out. He wouldn’t see her. He was angry at her. And I knew it hurt her, so angry as _I_ was, I just acted like everything was fine.” He was quiet again, for a long time. A tear rolled down my cheek. I knew how this story ended. “And then she died that summer. She was just…gone. And I was so…” I held my breath, bracing myself for whatever emotion Harry was about to express. I expected sad. Depressed. Lost. Confused. I got, “ _Angry._ ” Surprised, I blinked up at Harry. ”I was so _angry_. Because Gran and my Dad and William, they all got to be angry with her. And I never did. And then I felt guilty, because how can you be angry at your dead mum?”

I couldn’t take any more. My heart ached. My chest actually hurt, like someone had placed a boulder over my heart and my bones were about to collapse in on it. “Oh, Harry,” I sighed, lifting myself up. Again, I brushed some hair off his forehead and pressed my mouth against his. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just tangled his hands in my hair. And I let him. I let him take control. I let him tenderly kiss my mouth, roll me onto my back, lift my shirt over my head, kiss my stomach, unzip my jeans. I let him do it, and I wanted him to, because I wanted us to heal together. _I love you_ , I thought as he kissed my neck. It was pure. It was uncomplicated. It was just a seed, deep down in the pit of my stomach. As much as you could split me open and find my lungs, my muscle, my heart, it was there, too. If I had to go into surgery the doctors would cut me open and find my love for Harry. I gripped the silk sheets in my hands, curled my toes, and then gasped.

*** 

When I woke up the next morning it was grey outside, and rain drizzled gently against the windows. I was glad. After our conversation last night, a bright and sunny day would have been all wrong. To make matters worse, I’d cried a decent amount last night, which meant morning bags under the eyes and sinus congestion. Rubbing my stinging eyes, I rolled over to see Harry, who was still sleeping, one arm draped over my waist. He looked so peaceful, sleeping. I wondered if he ever dreamt of his mother, the way I sometimes dreamed that my father had stayed with us all along. 

Again, the words "I love you," seemed like they were on the tip of my tongue, but worse. It felt like my whole mouth was filled with those words. My eyes traced each and every freckle that was sprinkled across his nose. I didn’t know why, but I felt like crying again. Maybe it was just too early and I needed more sleep or something, but for some reason, I just felt so hopeless. Last night I had wanted the two of us to heal each other, but how could we? Me with my baggage and him with all of his – how could we possibly help each other? 

We were doomed, Harry and I. A relationship with this much damage could never survive. Eventually it would end with me locking Harry outside the bedroom or Harry shouting and walking out. It was practically written in the stars. I couldn’t stomach the thought of Harry and I going from being all warm in his bed to screaming at each other. I felt my heart sink into my heels as it dawned on me what I had to do. With a cold shiver like someone had dragged an icicle down my spine, I lifted the comforter off myself and crept out of bed. I was almost fully dressed before Harry woke up.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice still fuzzy with sleep. 

I didn’t turn around as I re-hooked my bra in back of me. “I just remembered that I have to get back to Bianca’s to do some stuff for school.”

“You’re on break,” Harry pointed out, sitting up.

“I know. It’s about my scholarship. I have to sign some papers and fax them over.” Where was I coming up with this stuff? I should have been an actress.

“Can’t you do it from here?”

I yanked my shirt over my head and finally turned around to face Harry, but I still couldn’t look him in the eye. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, I continued my story. “All of the papers are at B’s, and I have to have them signed and sent by the end of the day or they’ll charge me a late fee.” Wow. I was even cleverer than I thought.

Looking disappointed, Harry shrugged. “Yeah all right. Sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast?”

“Better not,” I shook my head, managing to sound like I was really bummed out by this. “But I’ll call you later, okay?” 

I was about to walk out the door when Harry reached out to me. He held my hand in his for a minute and I looked down. My skin looked translucent next to his as he rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. My heart broke violently as he lifted it to his lips and murmured, “Is this about last night?”

Trying to keep my face from turning bright red, I looked away and cleared my throat. “What? No. I just really need to get those papers in. I completely forgot about it with all the...going home and everything.” Did that even make sense? Was that even a sentence? 

I could feel Harry staring at me, trying to figure out if I was lying or not. It wouldn’t have taken Sherlock Holmes to know that I wasn’t telling the truth. Unable to prove anything, Harry just nodded, “Okay,” but he didn’t let go of my hand.

“Harry,” I tried to smile while I pulled my hand away. “I have to go.”

“Not before this,” he insisted, pulling me back down on the bed and wrapping me in a bear hug. I let out a shout and tried to get out of it, but his arms were like a straight jacket as he peppered kisses all over my head and face. 

“Harry! I have to go!” I protested, laughing as he started to tickle me. “I’m serious!”

“All right, all right,” he finally appeased me. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll see you later,” I promised.

Taking my face in his hands, Harry gave my eyes a more thorough inspection. With everything I had, I willed myself to look normal. I willed myself not to betray my true feelings, for my eyes not to spell out, “I’m terrified” in huge block letters. Somehow, I kept that buried. “Okay. I believe you,” Harry assessed.

With a sigh, I cupped his face like he was doing to mine and pressed my forehead to his. “It’s not about last night,” I whispered this promise to him. “Last night was amazing.”

Harry smiled lazily. “For me as well.” It was the same thing he’d said four months ago when we’d gone out on the tour. Feeling like I was about to break, I planted a kiss on his mouth, not minding that he’d just woken up, and then said good-bye before he could see that I was crying.


	22. She's All That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I got Bianca and we went back to her house. She could tell that something was wrong and asked gently on the ride back, but she didn’t press me when I lied and told her it was nothing. Harry only called once during the day and I left my phone in my bedroom intentionally so that I would miss it. The plan worked. I texted him the next day saying that Bianca and I would be out, and then I found excuses for the two of us to use the tennis courts or for her to show me the horses. “Have you ever been on one?” she asked me. When I shook my head, she scoffed. “That’ll have to change.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because all the royals ride,” she told me.

“I’m not a royal,” I muttered, stroking the nose of a grey-faced horse. He let out a deep breath and rubbed his head against my shoulder. I smiled and ran my fingers through his white mane. 

“All aristos ride, too,” Bianca pointed out, “and hunt. You’ll have to learn to hunt. Kate had to learn as well.”

“Can we not talk about them for a minute?” I snapped. Even the horse backed up. Sighing, I shook my head. “I just feel like I’ve been talking about Harry for four months. It’s exhausting.”

Holding her hands up in self-defense, Bianca surrendered. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

We went back into the city the next weekend. School started up again the week after that. Harry went off for work with the Blues and Royals, and I dodged Kate’s calls, too. Every once in a while I’d send a text promising to call, knowing that I had no intention at all. The only feeling worse than the guilt was missing them all so much. Something funny would happen and I’d think, “I have to remember to tell Kate,” or I’d learn something new in history and immediately want to ask William about it. Then I’d remember that I couldn’t. Or shouldn’t.

Bianca and I had been back at school for a week when Harry called from work. He’d be playing in another polo match for charity with William, and he wanted me to come. I avoided the call for three days before I absolutely had to call him back. He was already suspicious of my weird behavior, and this question required a response. “I don’t think we’ll be able to go,” I told him on the phone, managing to sound regretful.

“Oh, come on. I haven’t seen you since…in a long time.” I knew Harry had been about to say since the night we’d slept together. “And it’s a Sunday. I know you have off on Sunday.”

“I know, but we’ve got…” It was too early in the semester to be worrying about exams, and Bianca was frowning at me from across the room. Dammit. “Well…okay. Yeah, that’ll be fine. Where is it?” I scribbled down the venue where the polo match was taking place before saying a quick good-bye. While I got ready for bed, I could feel Bianca watching me. She could tell something was up from my lack of interest. Why hadn’t I asked if Kate would be there? Why wasn’t I already worrying about what to wear? Why wasn’t I acting like my usual self? Since she didn’t ask, I didn’t answer, and I was glad that I didn’t have to think about it.

* * *

On the day of the match, I didn’t have the energy to put the usual effort into my outfit. I didn’t even want to be going to polo. Not so surprisingly, I wasn’t in the mood to watch rich people play a game on horses that cost more than a house. I wanted to go back to the apartment and lay in my bed and not talk to anyone or go anywhere or do anything. Unfortunately, I’d already made these plans, and there was no getting out of them without someone asking a thousand questions. So I pulled on a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a grey sweater to match my feelings, a peacoat, and tied a scarf around my neck. Why was this even happening? Wasn't polo season in the spring? “Are you sure you don’t want to wear something else?” Bianca asked, giving me a once over right before we left.

“I’m fine. Come on, we’re late,” I ushered her out the door.

You would think that for as much polo as Harry played, I would know something about the sport. I knew nothing. There was something called a chucker, and at halftime you were supposed to go out and stomp on the field, but that was about all I got. I usually wouldn't minded going. It was fun to watch, and I liked horses, but there were a couple of times when Harry took a tumble. You would have thought the world was ending by the reaction of the crowd and the boys' officers. It was worse when it happened to Will, although to his credit he fell off a lot less than Harry. The boys had no problem after they’d fallen off. If anything, they were embarrassed. Their minders had to stop the game, assess the situation, and make sure they were okay before the match continued. I knew that the boys were fine, but my heart always did stop just for a second every time it happened. Plus, I was already on edge today, due to my recent conviction that Harry and I were going to cause each other heartbreak, depression, and something very, very ugly. So when Harry tumbled forward, rolling over on his shoulders, I gasped and yanked on a strand of hair, waiting for him to get up. 

“Relax,” Bianca said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “You know he knows how to fall.”

“Yeah, so did Christopher Reeve,” I snapped.

Bianca stared at me, wide-eyed. “Okay, you seriously need to get off your period or whatever it is that’s going on, because you’re going completely mad.”

I let out a hollow laugh and admitted, “I’m pretty sure I’m already gone,” I admitted.

In the time we were talking, Harry had gotten up, brushed himself off, and was back on his horse. I bit down on my lip. Later tonight I knew he would ask me to rub Icy/Hot on the shoulder he’d come down on. There would be a yellow and purple bruise there the size of my hand, and I’d spend the rest of my life trying to heal Harry from injuries I hadn’t caused. If I’d been thinking rationally, that side of my brain would have had something to say about this insane thought, but Crazy Roxy had completely taken over.

I'd lost count of how many Boddington’s I'd gone through when Guy had apparently been rejected by every girl at the game and stumbled his way over to me. Oh great. Crazy Roxy and Drunk Guy. I thought this wasn’t going to end well and, as Guy threw an arm around my shoulders and slurred, “Foxy Roxy!” I knew that this wasn’t going to _begin_ well, either. “How are you, love?”

“Fine, Guy. How are you?”

He gave me an eye roll with a sound of disgust. “These girls are all stuck up,” he said, gesturing to the group of girls across the tent who were glaring at him, repulsed. Guy and Piers had no problem picking up Harry’s throw-aways. Due to his personality, Piers liked Harry to do the prep work, chatting up the girl, and then he would swoop in and charm girls with his surliness, his irony, and his dry humor. Guy pretty much used for his opening line, “I know Prince Harry. Wanna shag?” Since he put himself out there more than Piers, he was met with, “Ew! No!” more than Piers. Today was, apparently, no exception.

“Have you ever considered that the girls aren’t the issue?” I asked.

Guy gave me a drunken leer up and down. With a smirk like a shark, he went in for the attack. “Should have known you’d take up with the prudes.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Guy was usually fun and jolly when he was drunk. I wasn’t sure why there seemed to be such a difference now, but there definitely was. Studying him closer, I noticed that his pupils were the size of pinpoints, and there were beads of sweat around his hairline. He was clearly on something other than just alcohol. I looked around for help – Kate or Bianca. How could he be so stupid? I could only imagine the field day the press would have if Harry was even in the remote vicinity when Guy got into trouble with drugs. Unfortunately, B and Kate were nowhere to be found, and Piers was chatting up some girl. _Damn…_

“Playing Hard-To-Get, are you?”

“Guy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’re obviously drunk, so – “

“We talk, you know. Best mates. You think Harry hasn’t told me that you haven’t put out?”

The alcohol came spraying out of my mouth. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I glared at Guy. “How _dare_ you talk to me like that?” Plus, he clearly didn’t know everything, as last weekend I had “put out,” as Guy so eloquently put it.

“Oh please. Let’s not pretend we’re all prim and proper. You’re from New Jersey.” I opened my mouth to retort, but Guy kept going. “It’s not like other girls haven’t done it before you. Fuck, Anne Boleyn did it. Question is, why?” Pausing, he gave me another bleary-eyed once over and then shrugged. “I bet him 100 quid you’re a virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” I insisted through clenched teeth. When had my life become _She’s All That_?

“That’s what Harry says. So then if you’re not a virgin, the question is, what are you waiting for? What do you want, eh? Your name in more papers? Some of mummy’s jewels?” Guy paused to take a sip of his drink, which I was pretty sure was just vodka. “It won’t matter, you know, how long you wait. The second you do, he’ll get bored like he always does, and you’ll be replaced.” Unable to stand it any longer, I reached up and slapped my palm against Guy’s stubbly cheek. He only smirked and rubbed where I’d hit him. “Feisty there, aren’t we?”

“Leave me alone,” I hissed before pushing past him to B.

“You know it’s true!” Guy called after me. “It’ll work as good for you as it did for Anne!”

When I reached Kate and Bianca, they could tell I was upset. “Roxy? What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“Nothing. B, we need to go.”

“What? Why? The match isn’t over yet.”

“I just need to go.”

Convinced by my urgent tone, Bianca nodded. “O…okay.” We both said good-bye to Kate before making for Bianca’s Mini. She waited until we were closer to school to ask me what was up again. When I told her what Guy had said, she shook her head. “Roxy, Guy says stupid stuff all the time.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But this time he was talking about things he talked about with Harry.”

“Well you can’t think that Harry actually thinks those things.” Pausing, she asked, “You know he doesn’t, right?”

Only I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I’d slept with Harry. I’d taken our relationship to another level, whether I had intended to or not. There was too much at risk and the ante could only go up from here. _Best just to end it now. Best to back out before we really hurt each other._ Before I was locking him out of the bedroom. Before he was throwing his clothes in the trunk of his car.

“ _Right_?” Bianca pressed again.

I didn’t answer.


	23. I Know You Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "I Know You Care" by Ellie Goulding
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It was the worst part of winter; the deadly cold that never gets better and seems like it will never end. The chill sets into every corner of every room, no matter how high the heat is on. My toes and fingers perpetually felt like ice. I spent every second of the day shivering, from the time I got out of bed in the morning, all through conditioning, class, and workshops, and when I tried to fall asleep at night. It seemed colder, with nothing and no one to look forward to.

_Clinging to me_  
like a last breath you would breathe.  
You were like home to me.  
I don’t recognize this street. 

“Fox, it’s me. I’m just calling to check up on you. You left polo kind of suddenly, I didn’t get to say bye. Just making sure everything’s okay? Right, call me back. I miss you.”

_Please don’t close your eyes._  
Don’t know where to look without them.  
Outside the cars speed by.  
I never heard them until now. 

“Roxy. It’s Harry. I called you a few days ago, but you didn’t call me back. Maybe you’re busy with school? Call me. Or text me, if you’re busy. I’ll see you later.”

_I know you care._  
I know it has always been there,  
but there’s trouble ahead, I can feel it.  
You are just saving yourself when you hide it. 

There were times when Bianca would make me go somewhere, even if it was just to run to Boots or Pret. I knew she was trying to get me out of the house. At first, photographers hid down streets with telephoto lenses, or people tried to catch pictures of me with their phones. After a while, everyone got bored of me. I was never with the person they were really interested in, and nothing seemed to be happening. So I faded out.

_I know you care._  
I see in the way that you stare.  
As if there was trouble ahead, and you knew it.  
I’ll be saving myself from the ruin.  
I know you care. 

I tried to see the silver lining around the heavy grey cloud. Madam had stopped giving her little lectures before class. The other girls stopped staring at me and snickering whenever I walked in a room. For the first time I could actually use the school library without feeling like I was in a fish tank, and it was good to get out of the room every once in a while, so that I didn’t spend all of my time in my small bed, trying to get warm and trying to forget.

_I used to run down the stairs  
to the door when I thought you were there  
to shape to the comfort of us.  
Two lovers locked out of love. ___

__“Roxanna, it’s Harry. Where are you? I wish…could you just call me? I don’t even know what happened. Just…talk to me, whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”_ _

_____I know you care.  
I know it has always been there.  
There’s trouble ahead, I can feel it.  
You were just saving yourself when you hide it._

__Early on in the spring term, Madam and Monsieur told us that our final exam for spring would be a workshop with the entire school. When you’re little, you have end of the year dance recitals, so the spring workshop was like that, only we were getting graded on it. If you did extremely poorly, you weren’t asked back for a second year, but that hardly ever happened. It didn’t matter, though. Bianca and I constantly woke up from nightmares of Madam telling us to pack our bags. So we started practicing more and more after our afternoon workshops. It filled up the time, at least._ _

_____I know you care.  
I see it in the way that you stare.  
As if there was trouble ahead and you knew it.  
I’ll be saving myself from the ruin._

__“Hey Rox, it’s Kate. Harry says you’ve been busy lately but I wanted to see if you and Bianca wanted to have a girl’s night? My sister is coming into town and the boys are going to be away for work. So give me a ring or text me. Bye!”_ _

_____I know I wasn’t always wrong,  
but I’ve never known  
a winter so cold.  
Now I don’t warm my hands in your coat._

__“Roxy, you’ve got to get up.”_ _

__“It’s Sunday. We don’t have class.”_ _

__“But…you’ve been sleeping all day. You have to eat something. Don’t you want to eat? You love food!”_ _

__“I’m not hungry.”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__“I’m really tired, B. I’ll eat later.”_ _

__“Okay. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”_ _

____But I still hope  
‘cuz this is how things ought to have been  
and I know the worst of it  
wasn’t it all that it seemed. 

My grades improved. With no one and nothing to distract me, I only had dance and academic classes to work on. I got essays back with comments from teachers that I had improved a lot. I took pop quizzes and easily passed them. My mom called me to ask if everything was okay, that she hadn't seen any paparazzi shots of me and Harry lately. I told her it was. When it turned from January to February, Bianca watched me even more closely. The day before Valentine’s Day, she asked me if I wanted to do anything. When I asked what she meant, she shrugged and suggested we get really drunk, eat chocolate, and watch horror movies. We spent the night with two bottles of cheap champagne, an empty, heart-shaped box of chocolate, and Freddy Krueger.

_Why can’t I dream?  
Why can’t I dream?_

The only time I could bare to think about any of it was when I was sleeping. I would dream that we were in Harry's bed, not speaking, just staring at each other in the grey, early morning light of London. And I knew he was so hurt. And he knew that I was. And we didn’t have to say anything to each other, because it was enough to just be together. And then I’d wake up. And, so that Bianca wouldn’t hear me, I’d roll onto my side, and cry into my pillow.

_‘Cuz I know you care._  
And I know you care.  
I know you care.  
I know you care.  
I know it’s always been there. 


	24. Saving Ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Okay Roxy, enough.”

It was a Sunday and I looked up from where I was looking over my maths homework in my bed. Bianca had come through the door and made this declaration, but I didn’t know what she was talking about. I’d been spending all day doing my other school-work from my bed, where I was spending most of my time lately. I’d read up on Winston Churchill and Jane Austen and figured out how to do science with the metric system. This was harder to do, though, when my mind was going back and forth to other things. I’d be reading about the RAF blitzkrig of Berlin and all of a sudden I’d remember a slip-up I’d made in class earlier that week, which would remind me of dancing at KP, and then I’d wind up remembering something funny Kate had said, an endearing look from William, my last night with Harry, and then… 

I’d looked it up. An inability to focus was a symptom of depression.

“What?” I asked dumbly.

Reaching over, Bianca turned off the music that was playing on my computer. “You’ve been listening to nothing but Adele and Mumford & Sons for a month. I’m about to kill myself. It’s enough.”

“Ellie Goulding too,” I muttered, before adding, “and it’s just my music.”

“No, it’s not just your music. It’s your music, and your sleeping, and your showering, and your eating, and your dancing.” During my last night with Harry, I’d confessed that the only times I could think about my parent’s divorce was when I was in the shower, because it was the only time I knew I was truly alone, and the only time I could cry as hard as I wanted to. This rule also applied to when I wanted to cry now. So I’d been showering pretty often lately.

“What’s wrong with my dancing?” I asked, embarrassed that Bianca had noticed my sudden interest in excellent hygene.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just been sad lately, Roxy. You can practically feel it. The way you feel it when you watch the Sugar Plum Fairy pas de duex or the Black Swan.” Bianca paused before sitting down on her bed across from me. “I just need you to tell me what’s going on so I can help you. I can’t believe that this is all about what Guy said at polo.”

She was right, of course. Not that I wanted to admit it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a flat look, Bianca only countered, “Bullocks.” Before I could open my mouth to say anything back, she repeated, “Bullocks Roxy! Bullocks!”

“Okay, just saying it over and over won’t make me know what it means.”

“It means you’re full of it! Guy said something stupid at polo! If you listened to everything Guy said when he was drunk you’d think that he was the most attractive man on the planet and he'd slept with every woman he'd ever met. It’s just ridiculous! Why don’t you tell me what’s really gotten you so worked up?”

Flipping the corners of the pages in my textbook, I let out a sigh. “Harry and I slept together.”

Bianca’s eyebrows nearly touched her hair and her mouth opened into an “o” for just a second. Then, she regained her composure and carefully continued, “O…okay. And…and has he…well, I guess I assumed that you stopped calling him. Is that not the case?”

“What?” 

“Has he slept with you and then chucked you?” Bianca asked delicately.

“What? No!” I insisted, more offended that she would suggest that Harry was the kind of person who would do that than anything else. 

Bianca held her hands up. “Okay! All right! I was just making sure!” She paused before prying some more. “Was it bad?” Another pause before a whispered, “Was it _small_?”

“No, and no,” I rolled my eyes. “That wasn’t the problem.”

“So then…what is the problem?”

“There is no problem Bianca, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well you have to do _something_ , because sitting here stewing in your own misery isn’t working.”

“I’m not stewing. And I’m not in misery.”

“You clearly are, and I honestly don’t know what else I can try to do to help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” I slammed the textbook shut and got up, making to leave the room.

“I know you didn’t ask. I’m trying to help you because you’re my friend and you’re upset. Don’t you think this is just a bit ridiculous?”

“Oh, I’m sorry my feelings are ridiculous.”

“Don’t be a twit, you know that’s not what I said.”

“Oh, so now I’m a twit, too. You’re really good at making me feel better.”

“Better than you are at helping me,” she spat back. “Just tell me what happened, because I don’t see the big deal! You don’t just like someone one day and want nothing to do with them the next.”

“Maybe _I_ do.”

“Roxy, just tell me – “

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be his mother!”

Blinking, Bianca shook her head. There was a long, full silence. Unable to stand her non-reaction, I opened one of my desk drawers and tried to organize it, but I’d done that about fifteen times in the last two days so there wasn’t much to do. Finally, she asked, “What do you mean?”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I sat back down on my bed. I couldn’t look her in the eye while I explained this to her. “His mom was so…she came from a broken home, and so do Harry and I. And it’s just all so much. After we slept together I was just looking at him, thinking that we would just _destroy_ each other, Bianca. We can never…we could never save each other.”

Bianca looked even more bewildered than she had at my initial outburst. “Roxy, you don’t get into relationships so that you can save the other person. Harry doesn’t need anyone to save him.”

But she was wrong. She hadn’t seen him tug at his sweatshirt strings and admit that he was angry with his mother. She hadn’t watched him talk about how he was jealous of Will’s relationship with her. “He needs…something,” was all I could offer. “You should have heard him, B, talking about his mother. Like it happened yesterday.”

“Roxy…look, what happened to his parents and to his mum…yes, it was sad. And a lot of it was…unpleasant. But…” Pausing, she knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. The angle forced me to look at her, and I saw that her blue eyes were swelling with tears. “What happened to us – all of us – when we were little was unfortunate. My dad died and my mum married another man about five minutes later and it was awful for me. And your dad walked out on you and left you and your mum for dead. But you don’t need Harry to save you. You don’t need _anyone_ to save you. You’re _happy_. No matter what you went through, or what Harry went through, you’re happy. That’s all that matters. If you’ve done that, you’ve saved yourselves.”

Tears were running down my face - for me, for Bianca, for Grace, for Harry and William, and for Diana; for every child whose upbringing hadn’t been picturesque; for all of the children who had sat in a corner of their room, held their hands over their ears, and hummed “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to drown out the shouting; for every kid who had looked out the window and watched their father toss clothes into his trunk, and drive away from the house, never to return. I was crying for that twelve-year-old red-head who followed his mother’s coffin to Westminster Abbey, who had placed a card on top of the boquet of lilies addressed to “Mummy.” Shaking my head, I tried to explain through my tears to Bianca, “But it’s so sad, and it still hurts so much.” It ached in my chest like someone had ripped my heart out of me, doused it in kerosene, and lit a match. Why was it still so sad, almost ten years later?

“I know,” Bianca nodded, her own tears spilling over, "but it’s over. _You’re_ in charge now. You can’t rewind and bring your dad back. Neither can I. No more than Harry can go back and stop his mum from getting in that car. But you _can_ be happy. You can choose what makes _you_ happy. We all can. That’s the beauty of growing up.”

She was right. Again. It was the sort of thing that only a best friend could say, even if you knew it was true on your own. It took the love of a best friend to say it out loud, to make you believe it. After a comforting and warm hug, Bianca got off the floor and sat next to me. “So what are you going to do?”

I thought about it for a minute. “I have no idea.”

“Do you want to call Harry?”

“He probably doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out.”

*** 

I hadn’t anticipated that it would be so hard to get a hold of Harry, although that was probably pretty naïve. We hadn’t spoken since January, and it was over a month later. I left him a couple of messages on his cell, but he was totally unresponsive, and I knew he didn’t change his number because his outgoing voicemail message was still the same. 

“Well you can’t blame him,” Bianca reminded me before maths.

“I know,” I muttered. “I just at least want a chance to explain.”

“ _He_ wanted a chance to explain, and you didn’t let him,” she pointed out, annoyingly.

“Yes, thank you Bianca, I am aware,” I glared.

After a week of no responses, I was starting to panic. _Shit._ Had I fucked it all up so terribly that I’d lost the kindest, most loving person I’d ever known? Because I’d thought that he, with his soft, adoring eyes, could ever be anything like my father?

Later that day, when we were back in our room, Bianca was frowning quizzically, thinking of ways I could reach Harry. “Why don’t you call Clarence House? Or SJP?”

Frowning, I asked, “Why would I call Sarah Jessica Parker?”

The water Bianca had just taken a sip of came spraying out of her mouth. Once she’d stopped laughing, she explained, “No, you ninny. Saint James's Palace.”

“I can’t just call them up and say ‘I’m Roxy and I demand that Harry call me back!’” I pointed out.

“No,” Bianca slowly agreed, "but they’ll tell him you’re trying to get a hold of him, and maybe he’ll appreciate the effort.”

Since I was running out of options, I figured I should just for for it. Not like I had anything to lose. During the Foxy Roxy scandal, I’d gotten the line to the Princes Office at Clarence House. When I called, I was directed to push different numbers to reach different people. I wasn’t sure who to speak to for this sort of thing, so I just waited to speak to an operator. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, this is Roxy DeLaSearle calling.” I guess I expected some name recognition, or for someone to ask me what I wanted. There was only, however, painful silence. “I’m a…a friend of Harry’s.”

“Yes, Miss DeLaSearle. I know.” From the sounds of his disdain, it seemed like I was talking to the man who had answered the door at Prince Charles’s apartment at KP.

“Oh. Well…um, I was just trying to get a hold of Harry. He doesn’t seem to be answering his cell.”

“Really? None of his other friends have reported a problem.”

_Okay, I get it dude_ , I thought. “Right. Guess it’s just me then. Anyway, is there a way you could let him know I’ve been trying to reach him?”

“Of course, Miss DeLaSearle. Have a good day.”

The line clicked before I could say thank-you, and I wasn’t totally convinced that Harry would get the message.

***

It wasn’t until three days later, when I’d lost all hope, that a blocked number called me. “Hello?”

“Yes, I’m calling for Miss DeLaSearle on behalf of His Royal Highness Prince Harry.”

Sitting straight up in bed, where I’d been hopelessly staring at the ceiling, I reached out to get Bianca’s attention. She mouthed, “speaker” at me and I pressed the button so that she could hear our conversation. “Yes, hi, I’m Roxy,” I stupidly replied.

“His Royal Highness has asked me to let you know that he can meet with you at Kensington Palace this Saturday at three.” I was about to spew out my gratitude, but the man continued. “His Royal Highness will send a car for you at 2:45. The car will drop you off at the front of the Palace, not His Royal Highness’s private apartment.”

Blinking, I looked at Bianca. She shook her head and shrugged. “That’s…yes, okay, thank you.” The man told me to have a nice day before hanging up. Giving Bianca a totally confused expression (like the one she was wearing), I asked, “What do you think that means?”

“No idea,” she admitted, and it didn’t leave me feeling very confident.


	25. Roxy's Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I wasn’t sure why I spent so much time picking out an outfit, I was just going to KP to talk to my friend…that was, if we _were_ still friends. Whatever the reason, it was important to me. I tried on all my clothes, and then most of Bianca’s, before I settled on a floral print dress and flats. “You look like a little kid,” Bianca informed me.

“I’m trying to look sweet and innocent.”

“Wouldn’t it be more effective if you walked in there looking like a total sex goddess?” Turning to her, I raised an eyebrow and she waved the thought away. “No, you’re right, you could never pull that off.” I laughed, gave her a playful smack, and headed downstairs to get into the car when it arrived promptly at 2:45. 

As I’d been told, the blacked-out car did not take me around to the boys’ apartment. Instead, it dropped me off at the front entrace, almost just behind where the tourists went into the bit that open to the public, and left as soon as I was out of the car. With a sigh, I looked up at the incredibly intimidating building. This was exactly what Harry had meant to do. He had the home-court advantage, and he wanted me to know it. Taking a deep breath, I figured I’d just have to suck it up. A red-coated man greeted me at the door and led me to the reception room. I’d never been to any reception room before so naturally I immediately started to panic. “His Royal Highness will be with you in just a moment,” the man in red assured me before bowing and walking away.

Unsure of what to do next, I sat in one of the plush, gilded chairs in the hallway while a different man in a red coat stood by the door. His presence made me extremely uncomfortable, like a salesperson who was convinced you were going to steal something and followed you around the store. I looked down at my shoes and suddenly felt silly. Bianca and I had spent almost an hour picking out my outfit. Why? This was just Harry, we knew each other, we were friends. He knew as much about me as Bianca, as anyone. He didn’t care what was covering my feet, he didn’t care what I was wearing…I hoped.

I mentally kicked myself again. Why had I listened to Guy at the polo match? Why hadn’t I just asked Harry about it? Why hadn’t I snapped out of being crazy and emotional sooner? Why had I even made him talk about his parents in the first place? 

He seemed angrier than I’d expected – I’d never had to wait before. The message was clear; he was a busy man and couldn’t fit me into his life whenever I wanted to be fit in. I couldn’t blame him. I was an American ballet student and he was a Prince of Wales. Why had I been so stupid? Although, when I thought about it, it didn’t matter who Harry was or what his rank was. If I had treated any friend that way he would be mad at me, and he would totally be in the right. What had I even been thinking before? It had seemed so clear at the time, but suddenly I couldn’t remember my thought process at all. 

I heard footsteps from down the hall and turned to see where they were coming from. A man in red was following Harry, struggling to keep up with his broad stride. Harry was in khaki pants and a pink button down under a jacket. Again, I got the message. What was going to happen between Harry and I in the next several minutes was going to be business, nothing more. Instinctively, I stood as Harry got closer. “Hello there Roxanna,” he greeted me with a smile - that I took as a good sign. The man in the red coat opened the door to the room he’d been standing watch over and I saw Harry check the time as we walked in. My hopes fell into my hollow stomach.

“Tea, sir?” the man in the red coat asked.

Harry waved a hand and dismissed the man before gesturing to the couch. I sat and he sat across from me, one ankle on the other knee. We were silent for a minute and I realized that he was waiting for me to speak. I was, after all, the one asking for his precious time. I suddenluy felt extremely stupid, and just wanted to leave and hide under my comforter until I forgot that I’d ever screwed anything up this badly. “So, what can I help you with?” Harry finally asked.

I opened my mouth to answer that loaded question, but couldn’t. My throat was clogged with shame. “Nothing,” I finally rasped out. Clearing my throat, I answered again, “Nothing. I just…wanted to stop by and talk.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Talk?” he asked. “About what?”

All right, he wasn’t going to make this easy. I shrugged. “Just…you know. Talk. To you.”

He nodded slowly. “Oh, I see. Well, I’d love to talk Roxanna but unfortunately I’m quite busy today.” He checked his watch again for effect. It wasn't necessary. I wasn't Fox, or even Roxy; he'd called me Roxanna twice. The only people who usually did that were William and Prince Charles. I shivered. “Do you think we could get lunch some time next week maybe?” Before I could answer he sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, actually I’ll be away next week for work. I could have someone call you when I’m back in town.”

After going on my fair share of auditions for school, I knew the, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” line, and that’s what Harry was giving me right now. I looked down at my childish floral skirt and nodded. “Yeah,” I squeaked out in a meek voice. “That would be fine.”

“Great. Well I should get going. I’ve got meetings all day about the wedding,” Harry told me, standing up. “I’ll call you,” he said over his shoulder, taking three strides to the door.

“Harry, wait!" It came out urgently, like he was about to get hit by a car. It sounded incredibly desperate. 

Harry turned back to me, and asked, "What?” clearly bewildered.  
I gulped and took a few steps toward him, putting myself in between he and the door. “Harry, look, I get it, okay? I know that I disappeared and that was horrible of me and I feel terrible about it. But I came back here today because…because I miss you. And I don’t mean I miss…the Rolls or…or the stuff. I just miss you, and I miss Bond Fest, and French toast, and Regents Park.” 

Scoffing, Harry shook his head. “So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you now because you miss having royal friends? I’m just supposed to forget that I told you all of that…all of that stuff and you just walked away?”

“I don’t miss having royal friends. I just miss having friends.” I tried to define the difference for him, but it only sounded like a pathetic murmur. Finally I summoned the courage to look Harry in the eye. As soon as I did, he ducked his gaze down, looking exactly like his mother. “Can I just…explain to you what happened?” Harry made a noncommittal noise, shrugged, and looked away. I took that as a yes. “I know it’s stupid, but when I was at the polo match, Guy said…well, he said that sometimes you liked to go after girls who played hard-to-get and it was all like a game to you. And I didn’t want to lose your friendship because…because of what our relationship may or may not have been.”

“So, you didn’t want to lose our friendship, so you decided to end all contact with me?” Harry asked slowly.

Okay, now time for the more difficult problem. “Well…also because of all that… stuff we talked about.”

“It was your idea! I didn’t want to discuss it!” he reminded me, sounding angrier than I’d ever heard him.

“I know, I know,” I admitted, "and I still don’t think it was a bad decision. It just… freaked me out a little. It made me feel like we were both so fucked up that…that we couldn’t be together.” Harry didn’t say anything, just looked away. He was starting to annoy me. I’d apologized and explained, hadn’t I? And…and I had a point here that I’d completely forgotten about! Straightening up, I continued, "and it’s not like it’s a picnic, being friends with you, Harry! I mean, you’re great, and we have such a good time, but you have to understand that at school, I’m a leper! The other girls won’t go near me, except Bianca, and the teachers just hate me for it.” Harry opened his mouth to respond but I placed my fingers against him. “But after the past couple of weeks I’ve realized that I don’t really care that much about all that other stuff. I just miss you,” I finished with a shrug. 

Harry took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have listened to Guy,” he finally said.

“I know,” I looked down.

“And you should have just…told me how you felt.”

“I know,” I repeated, embarrassed.

He was quiet for a few more seconds. We were standing so close I could feel his breath. He was always so warm. After a few silent seconds, he tangled his fingers with mine. I felt the blood rush into my face. “I know you’re sick of the media attention, and that you don’t want to ruin our friendship. The truth is I’ve missed you, too, Roxy.” I opened my mouth, but then realized I had nothing to say and closed it again. For the first time in my life, I was getting that feeling I got right before I went on stage, but it wasn’t because I was about to perform. My stomach swirled in quick circles and my heart started pouding in my ears. I could feel the red splotches starting to bloom on my chest. Finally, Harry finished his thought. “If you’re going to come back here…I need to know what you want.”

I looked up into Harry’s deep, blue eyes and, without thinking about it for another second, pressed my mouth to his. His mouth was warm, and tasted so familiarly like whiskey and cigarettes, which should have been disgusting but was also a little sweet. It was just Harry. He placed a hand on my hip, gathering my skirt in a fist that clenched and then unclenched. He placed another hand on the wall behind me as we leaned up against it, and bit down softly on my bottom lip as he pulled away. “So…it wasn’t because of…” Harry let the end of his speculation trail off, but I knew he feared what Bianca had asked back in the dorm.

Remembering Bianca whispering, “Was it _small_?” to me, I stifled my laughter and shook my head. “No. That part was…that part was just fine,” I assured him, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

When Harry kissed me again, my heart soared. He was going to forgive me. He was actually going to give me a second chance. “Stay the night,” he breathed out.

“I thought you were busy all day,” I raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head. “I’m not, made it all up.”

“ _What_?” 

Harry grinned and rubbed the tip of my nose with his. “I wanted to make you sweat,” he explained, and then planted kisses along my jaw line, down my neck. “Come on. It’s Saturday, you don’t have school tomorrow.”

Firmly, I placed my hand on his chest. “Harry, are you sure about this?” I asked. “I mean, if we do this…there’s no going back.”

Looking me dead in the eye, he responded, “I’m counting on that,” and kissed me again. The next time we came up to gasp for air, he took my hand and burst out of the door. Giggling and mischievous, we walked to his apartment and up to his room without exchanging any words. 

*** 

Hours later, when I woke up from that delicious post-coitus coma, I rolled onto my back, frowning at the empty place in the bed next to me. Before I could panic that Harry had decided to get the hell out of dodge, he came through the door wearing sweat pants and a white cotton t-shirt. When he saw I was awake he smiled and I instinctively blushed and looked away. “Hey,” he crawled on the bed toward me, kissing my cheek. “Sleep well?”

I nodded. “Where were you?”

“Oh, Will and Kate are here. They have to go plant a tree or something tomorrow and they’re leaving from here with Dad,” he explained.

“Do they know I’m here?” I asked, biting on my bottom lip.

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Were they not supposed to?”

Thinking about it, I considered if I wanted William and Kate to know that we were officially a couple. If I wanted anyone to know, it was my friends, not the press, and I reasoned that I would have to get used to Harry being my boyfriend, instead of this ambiguous presence in my life, like he had been just a few hours ago. “No, that’s fine,” I assured him.

“They brought take away, Thai,” he offered, nudging me.

Smirking, I gave him a knowing look. “Well, I can’t say no to post-sex pad thai.” Harry kissed me again and I got out of bed, noticing that the clothes I’d been wearing were laid neatly over a chair, not strewn on the floor where I was pretty sure Harry and I had left them. “How did my clothes get like that?” I asked.

Shrugging, Harry explained, “I dunno, must have been the cleaning man.”

I clutched a sheet to my chest. “There was some random guy in here while I was sleeping? _Naked_?”

“No, not some ‘random’ guy,” Harry assured me. “The cleaning man.”

“Oh, the cleaning man,” I feigned assurance. “Well, in that case, that’s perfectly fine.”

“That’s his job,” Harry struggled to calmly explain to me. “He does it to me all the time. If it makes you feel any better, they take a vow of silence or something before they’re allowed to be cleaning men.”

The migraine was already starting to thud in between my eyes. “I think we’re hitting our first wall here. Harry, you can’t just have people coming in and cleaning up your room while you’re sleeping. Naked.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Well, first of all, it just seems like it doesn’t make sense. I mean, what if someone was trying to assassinate you?”

“What is your odd fascination with people being assassinated or beheaded?” he asked, missing the point. Before I could answer, Harry took a few strides over to me, placing his hands on my bare shoulders. “All right. While you’re here, I can tell the cleaning men to take a break.”

“Thank you,” I nodded. “Now turn around while I get dressed.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow and then obliged. “I swear Roxanna, sometimes you’re so British.”

After I was re-dressed, Harry and I headed into the kitchen were Will and Kate were unpacking their take out. When Kate looked up and saw me, she let out a small squeal and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Roxy’s back!”

William smiled. “Yes, I can see that, dear, no need to squeal.” Then, to me, he nodded, “It’s lovely to see you Roxanna.”

“So,” Kate slowly prodded, "does this mean…” She let her question trail off, looking from Harry to me and back and forth again.

“Yeah,” I nodded, and Harry gave my hand a squeeze. “We’re…it’s official,” I shrugged, unsure of what else to say. Kate squealed again and threw her arms around me, jumping up and down. “Calm down, nobody’s walking down the aisle yet,” I told her, but couldn’t help giggling. I was happy that I was going to be with Harry in an official capacity now and Kate’s excitement made me want to jump up and down, too. “Well, except for you.”

“Oh, Roxy! You _have_ to come!” Kate insisted, squeezing my hands. 

“Catherine,” William cautioned her.  
“Fine, we can talk about that later,” she settled. “This is going to be so great! I won’t have to go everywhere alone now!”

“Alone?” William chuckled, scooping pad thai onto her plate. “I’m always with you! Or am I old news?”

Kate giggled and gave him a reassuring kiss. Harry and I made plates and the four of us sat at the table. “So Kate, I was thinking that you could sort of show Roxy the ropes while Will and I are away.”

“Away?” I asked, looking up at the three of them.

“Well…there was one true thing I told you earlier today,” Harry told me regretfully. “I do have to go away next week for work.”

I must have had the worst timing in the world. I’d decided to get back together with Harry a day before he had to leave for work. Not to mention that I knew all about Harry “at work.” In fact, when William and Kate had taken a brief hiatus, it was because he and Harry were hitting up the club circuit with the other men of the Blues & Royals. Their nickname was the Booze & Royals. This was going to be the first real test for our relationship – and in this world, I knew PR was everything. 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” Will asked Harry.

I was about to ask what they were talking about, but when Harry answered I realized that the two of them were thinking a few steps ahead of me. “Probably just not go out with the lads,” Harry shrugged.

“Do you think you should put out a statement?”

“I don’t see why.”

“Well you could appeal to the press,” William pointed out, gesturing vauely to me.

Waving my arms around I asked, “Um, hello! Are we talking about me here?”

The two princes blinked at me. “Well…yes,” William confirmed.

I couldn’t say anything, just stammered a bunch of sputtering sounds for a minute. Kate finally reached over and gave me a pat on the back. “The only reason putting out a statement to the public would be to ask the media to protect your privacy,” she explained patiently. “William and I put one out at uni...but that was also because there were rumors that he was dating other girls, and it was driving me absolutely mad.” Kate said the last part in a tense, overly sweet voice that made me laugh. “I don’t think you'll have to worry about that, since everyone already thinks you two are an item. Why don’t we do this: you and I will go shopping on the high street next weekend. That way there will be loads of pictures of the two of us and people will put the pieces together for themselves. That, plus Harry not going out with the boys will send the message we want.”

“What about her privacy?” William pointed out.

Kate bit down on her bottom lip, looking like she was thinking hard. It was so adorable that it was kind of annoying. “Well what’s the big deal? Why don’t we just put out a statement?” I asked.

Giving me a wary look, Kate slowly explained, “It can be a fickle thing. You complain to the press and people criticize you, saying you’re asking for attention. You say nothing, you get…”

“Pictures of you naked in _The Mirror_ ,” I finished for her.

“Exactly,” she nodded.

So this was my life now – strategically planning photo ops and debating whether I wanted people to hate me or for my privacy to be invaded. Feeling suffocated, I looked at Harry. “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid.” 

He stood and wrapped his arms around me from behind, kissing the top of my head. “You’ll figure it all out,” he assured me, and instead of choosing to not believe him, I just leaned back against him and let myself not worry about it, just for right now.

***

I got back to the dorms Sunday evening, feeling like I was floating. When I walked into the room, I was humming the waltz in _Sleeping Beauty_ , or, as most people knew it, "Once Upon a Dream" from the Disney film. B was standing in front of the mirror, measuring her waist. I didn’t even blink at what some people might call this odd habit as I flopped down on my bed. “So I’m guessing the talk went well,” she surmised.

“It went…well,” I giggled, remembering the intense bedroom sessions Harry and I had. I told the whole story (well, almost; I didn’t think she wanted to hear the Danielle Steele parts) to Bianca and she oohed and ahhed in all the right places. “There’s...something else.” She bit her bottom lip and grinned in anticipation. “Harry and William have to be gone all week for some helicopter thing, and Kate thought it would be a good PR move if she and I went to the high street to do some shopping.”

Bianca let out a squeal that, if it were one pitch higher, would have been a sound only dogs could hear. I giggled, allowing myself to be excited with her. “You are the luckiest girl on the planet,” she reminded me.

“I know!” I agreed. “Anyway, I was wondering if you would come with us.”

Bianca drummed her fingertips across her mouth. “Hm…shopping on the high street with my best friend and Kate Middleton…I wonder if that’s something I’d be interested in. Of _course_ I’ll go!”

“Thank God,” I sighed.

She chuckled. “It’s a shopping trip, not a death sentence, Roxanna,” she encouraged.

“Well yeah, but it’s with Kate Middleton! What if I pick out something tacky?” I worried.

“Then she’ll be polite enough not to tell you it’s horrendous. You’ll be _fine_ , Rox,” she assured me. “So, where do you want to go?”  
“I don’t really know,” I told her honestly. “I mean, you’ve seen my wardrobe. I live in jeans and t-shirts.”

She shivered with disgust. “I know, don’t remind me.”

“Hey, I’m from New Jersey, you’re lucky it’s not stirrup pants and big hair."  
Bianca laughed and then started describing the different stores on the high street to me. “Kate likes Reiss, and Whistles, so we’ll probably go there,” she thought out loud. 

“Okay, here’s another thing…I’m broke,” I told her.

Bianca blinked. “What?”

“I’m here on scholarship, Bianca,” I reminded her. “I’m not rich.”

She contemplated this. “Well…then we’ll just have to shop the sale racks, won’t we?” Reaching across the table, she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure something out, and you’ll look amazing.” Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but be excited. With Harry and I finally being official, I felt like a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders. My only regret was that I’d been stupid enough to put it off for so long.


	26. Royal Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The next weekend, B and I took the tube to meet Kate at the high street shops. It was fairly easy to step out in the morning, or at least to get from school to the train. Kate had tipped off someone at SJP to leak our shopping spree to the press so that along the way, the paparazzi would figure out where we were and what we were doing. No doubt that they would then slowly amass outside the stores we were perusing. Apparently it had worked because by the time we exited the station, there was already three paparazzo waiting for me and clicking away. “Hey Roxy, how are you?” one of them boldly asked. Sticking with my usual policy (and one Kate had insisted was the right thing to do), I said nothing, and instead joined Kate, who was getting outside of a car in front of L.K. Bennet. 

“Hey Kate.”

Kate opened the door for us. “Right, basically L.K. Bennet _has_ to be your first stop,” she told me. “They’ve got this shoe that I _always_ wear. It’s totally necessary.”

I already knew what she was talking about. Everything Kate wore sold out in under an hour. They called it the Kate Effect. The nude pump had been the object of every girl’s desire since she’d gotten engaged in October. They were the shoes Harry had given Grace for Christmas. We headed into the store and the saleswoman automatically locked the press outside and pulled down shades so that we were concealed. “Thanks!” Kate gave her a small wave before leading us over to the shoe department. As we walked through the store, I took in all of the classy fashion. I didn’t think I could ever pull off any of it. It was all classy and elegant, two things I was not. 

“ _This_ is what I’m talking about,” Kate told me, holding up the beige pump. “It goes with absolutely everything. My mum, Pippa, and I all have them. So does Will’s aunt, Sophie.”

“Hello, Catherine,” another saleswoman approached us, using the name by which Kate was to be called post-engagement. “Back for some more shoes?”

“Oh no, I think I bought the whole store the last time I was here,” she told the smartly dressed saleswoman. “But my friend Roxy here is very interested in some new items for her wardrobe.”

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Anna,” the saleswoman, who didn’t look much older than Kate, shook my hand. 

“Hi, I’m Roxy,” I introduced myself, even though I knew she already knew who I was.

“So what size are you?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Oh, you know what, I’m not sure. In America I’m an eight and a half, but I don’t know how that translates…”

The woman assured me that she could figure out the conversion and disappeared into the stock room. Kate told us she’d be back after she looked at some new dresses and when I was sure no one was staring, I lifted the shoe off the display and looked at the price tag on the bottom. “Holy crap!”

“What?” Bianca asked.

“B, these are two hundred pound shoes,” I told her, shoving the price tag under her nose. “That’s like, four hundred dollars.”

Bianca considered this. “Okay, but you live in England now, so really it’s like two hundred pounds.”

This was no comfort at all. “Yeah, but two hundred pounds is still a ridiculous amount to pay on shoes,” I told her. As a general rule of thumb, Marci DeLaSearle’s motto was, “If you can’t find it at Target, you don’t need it.“ I wasn’t even sure when the last time I’d worn anything with an actual brand was. 

Kate must have seen me panicking, because she approached us and asked, “Is something the matter?”

Desperately, I looked to Bianca for a solution. She pursed her lips and thought over how to tactfully explain this to Kate. “Roxanna here is a little concerned about spending beyond her means,” she explained, calling me poor in the least-offensive way possible. Humiliated, I blushed and looked down.

Kate nodded slowly. “I see. I’m not completely sure that will be a problem.”

“Why not?” I asked, confused.

“First of all, I’m great at finding a steal,” she informed me with a pleased smile. “And second…well, here comes Anna. You’ll see.”

“Miss DeLaSearle, come sit,” Anna beckoned to me, patting a beige leather chair. I did and nervously chewed on my bottom lip as she took the shoe out of it’s box, unwrapped the tissue paper, and slipped it on my foot. It fit like a dream, and the shoe was beautiful. Maybe simple and elegant _could_ work for me…if only it wasn’t $400. “There, perfect,” she assessed. “Do you want to walk in them?”

I stood and, looking to Bianca, confessed, “I’ve never been good at walking in heels.”

“If you can dance in those God awful pointe shoes, you can walk in these,” Kate encouraged, and I strode a few paces across the tile floor. Even the way the shoes clicked sounded beautiful, like music. My stomach twisted into a giant knot. I loved the shoes. This would be tough to walk away from, and humiliating to have to explain to Anna.

“So, Roxy, what do you think?” Anna asked.

I looked at Bianca, who again stepped up to the plate. “This is Roxy’s first shopping trip, so we may go look at some other things before we buy them.”

Anna blinked up at her, then at Kate, and then looked at me. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waved a hand in front of her face. “Anything for a friend of Kate’s.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant and I looked to Kate for answers. She just raised her eyebrows and grinned, and then it became clear to me what Kate’s "second of all” had been. After some more shopping Anna placed the shoebox and a gold woven clutch into a shopping bag for me. Together, the two items should have cost seven hundred pounds, and I was getting them completely for free. When we walked back out onto the street, more paparazzi had congregated outside of the store. “What the hell was that about?” I asked Kate in a low voice so no cameras would overhear, or be able to read my lips.

“Believe me, they don’t do it for free,” Kate assured me. “The instant you hold that clutch in public they’ll sell out of them in under an hour. It works out in their favor.”

I felt kind of guilty for getting the free loot, but before I could feel too guilty about it, Kate, Bianca, and I headed into another store, Whistle. It was more similar to stores in the malls back home, and the prices were far more affordable. I bought another bag, a soft blue peplum dress, another pair of slightly higher black suede pumps, and a yellow eyelet bodycon dress with cap sleeves. “I wish I could get away with bright color more often,” Kate sighed wistfully. 

“Should I not be wearing it?” I asked her at the register, taking out my debit card. I had insisted on paying for at least half the items, and even on top of those the saleswoman was giving me a great discount. 

“Oh no,” Kate assured me. “I’m sure you can get away with it. I can’t accept things for free, either, but you’re not a royal, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Wide-eyed, I turned to her, horrified. “What?

“It’s _fine_ ,” she insisted. “No one will find out.”

“What if they do?”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because then you’ll never go back to shop with them again,” she pointed out, “and they would lose a ton of business.”

Bianca gave me a reassuring nod and I sighed. I already felt exhausted trying to learn all the rules. 

We stopped for lunch at Claridge’s. It wasn’t somewhere the royals would normally go, but the point was to put Kate and I in the public eye together. It wasn’t until we were sitting down that I felt like I finally got the chance to take a breath. “So, Kate,” Bianca spoke up, "what should Roxy expect?” She sounded like my mom had when we’d talked to George about RBA. 

Kate shrugged. “Nothing she hasn’t already experienced. Although, now that you’re officially Harry’s girlfriend, he can probably get Clarence House to make the paparazzi stop camping out outside of your school. When I moved to Chelsea, Will got them to have to stay fifteen meters away from my front door.” When Bianca and I had first stepped outside after the press had gotten the pictures of Harry and I in the club, Bianca had told me that they had to stay a certain distance away from me. I’d asked how she knew that, and now I guessed this was the answer.

“That would be lovely,” I sighed, thinking of the photographers having to stay across the street, so I wouldn’t be bombarded with them as soon as I left the gates of the Academy. 

“Oh, and the other day Harry was saying you’ve had some problems at school,” Kate confessed, looking concerned.

Bianca pounced. “It’s complete bullocks,” she told Kate, and then explained Madam’s severe warnings about questioning my future and my loyalty to the school and my dancing career.

Kate sat back in her chair. “Hm. That sounds difficult,” she acknowledged.

“I just don’t know how to rectify the situation,” I told her. “I tried to distance myself from Harry, but that just annoyed me. That was before, too; we weren’t even officially together. Now that we are I’m sure they’ll get even more intense about it.”

“Maybe Clarence House can talk to them?” Kate suggested.

“And say what? Insist that they be okay with it? They can’t monitor that,” I told her. “Besides, it would be more annoying if they didn’t kind of have a point.”

Kate firmly placed her palm down on the table. “They _don’t_ have a point, Roxy,” she told me in a stern tone that made me blink. “I went to university and maintained status on the honor role the whole time. I didn’t have anyone breathing down my neck, saying that I wasn’t committed to being in school. Then, when I graduated, I found a job just like everyone else.”

“But you were broken up for some of that time,” I reminded her, hoping that I wouldn’t touch a nerve.

“So? The point is that you’re valuable to them, you just don’t know it.” I waited for her to explain. “Roxy, how many people have suddenly started to care about ballet now that you’re getting all this press attention? You should ask the people who work there in sales or accounting how long the wait list is, or how much their profits have gone up. I _promise_ you, there are people buying tickets to the ballet to catch a glimpse of Prince Harry’s girlfriend.” I settled back into my seat, feeling uncomfortable. Kate saw me squirm and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t feel bad about it. It’s just the way things are now. That doesn’t mean that you can get cocky because you’re some big celebrity, but it does mean that, in most areas of your life, you’re going to have a bit of leverage.”

I let the words sink in. Maybe Kate was right about this. She’d been doing it for eight years, after all. Maybe I had more leverage than I thought I did with Madam and Monsieur. Didn’t I already know that what Kate was saying was true? Hadn’t there been a surge in ticket sales since I’d first been spotted out with Harry? Hadn’t this winter’s _Nutcracker_ sold out in record time? Wasn’t the academy being flooded with girls hoping to get in? “I just don’t know if they care about any of that stuff,” I shrugged.

“Believe me, they care,” Kate insisted. “Their whole job is to care.”

“Thank you! That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time,” Bianca told Kate. “It’s ridiculous. They’re acting like this is a bad thing or something. Really, it’s win-win for them.”

“Like the shoes,” Kate reminded me. “So the next time they give you trouble at school, you don’t even have to say anything. Just know that whatever they tell you, those are empty threats. If they know what’s good for the business they run, they’ll keep you around.”

I smiled, feeling confident with that knowledge. Pulling off the attitude was going to be another challenge…

*** 

“Now we’ll swap over to Christina for the Royal Watching segment,” the anchor of the five o’clock news said later that night. I was exhausted from our shopping trip, and Bianca and I had gone back to the dorms. Kate had invited us to Clarence House, but I knew that she had to do a lot of wedding stuff with Prince Charles, and I didn’t want to get in her way.

“Ugh, turn it off,” I told Bianca, changing out of jeans and into a pair of sweats.

“No way! We have to see if the plan worked,” Bianca insisted, turning up the volume. I flopped down on my bed and watched Christine (apparently) for the BBC report on the shopping trip.

“Thanks Johnny. Earlier today we spotted Catherine Middleton out with Roxanna DeLaSearle, who had kind of dropped off the royal watching radar for the past month or two. Before now, her relationship with Harry was always quite ambiguous, with Palace insiders insisting that she and Harry were nothing more than good friends. This shopping trip with Kate, however, would seem to refute that. We have no official word from Clarence House, but the two of them paling around with her roommate and socialite Bianca Winchester would certainly indicate that she and Kate are now two of a kind. Back to you, Johnny.”

“Just out of curiosity, what did she buy?”

“Well we saw the girls pop into the L.K. Bennett shop, a favorite of Miss Middleton. It will be interesting to see how Roxy navigates this new chapter of her relationship – she’s always been a bit edgier than Kate on the fashion front.”

“Especially after those Foxy Roxy pictures.” Well, Johnny was certainly a creep.

The reporters chuckled. “Ah, yes, especially after those pictures. So it will be fun for us royal watchers and fashionistas to see her style development now that she’s officially the next royal girlfriend.”

Bianca flicked the TV off. “So. It’s official. How do you feel?” she asked.

Honestly, I answered, “Kind of weird.”

“You should call your mum,” she advised. 

“I doubt she’ll hear about this at home,” I told her. 

“Which is why you should call her and tell her that things have changed. She won’t know otherwise, and by the time she does know, you know she’ll be angry that she didn’t hear it from you.”

I grumbled an agreement and picked up the phone. My mom didn’t pick up so I left a message and then, randomly, I called Grace. She picked up on the third ring. “Roxy?” She sounded genuinely curious.

“Hey. What are you doing?” I asked. 

“Nothing, I’m just at the park with Ray and Eddie.” Sometimes I forgot that my sister was married with a kid. My heart tugged and I thought about my trip back home for New Years, glad that I’d gotten to see Eddie. I wasn’t sure when the next time I’d get that kind of opportunity would be.

“Oh. Have you talked to Mom lately?”

“Yeah, I talked to her yesterday. Why?”

“I’m trying to get in touch with her but she’s not picking up. I sort of have… something to tell her.”

Grace was quiet for a minute. “Is this about Prince Harry?” she asked slowly.

“Um…kind of,” I admitted. Grace and I weren’t the kind of sisters where she knew everything about me. She hadn’t known that I’d taken a break from Harry for a few months, or if she did it was what she’d read in the tabloids. “I guess you should know that he and I are…well, we’re officially a couple, and…things might change for you and Mom in the future.”

“What kind of things?” Grace asked.

I wasn’t really sure how to answer that question. Reporters had already dug into my past. They knew that I came from a poor part of Jersey, and that I had a wunderkind sister and a compassionate mother. I thought about how the paparazzi followed around Pippa almost as much as they followed around Kate and sighed. “There just might be people trying to take pictures of you. Or something, I’m not really sure,” I told her. “It won’t be a big deal. I just wanted you to know before you heard it from somewhere else.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Grace said out loud, and I knew what she was thinking about. “Do you remember…” She let her sentence trail off, but I was thinking the same thing. The day before I started the fourth grade, Grace had woken me up early in the morning. The sun was just starting to rise as we tip-toed down the stairs, and she pointed to where she was watching TV. Instead of the usual _Looney Tunes_ re-runs, she had on the news. A helicopter had taken footage of an ambulance slowly weaving through city streets. The reporter doing a voice over delivered the final blow: They had tried to resuscitate her, but Princess Diana was dead. I’d burst into tears right then and there, and had kept crying all day. Grace hugged me, crying herself. It was the last time I could remember the two of us being close.

“I know,” I told her. “Anyway, if you talk to Mom, tell her to call me.” Grace agreed and I hung up the phone, looking at Bianca. 

“What?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. This all just feels really weird.”

“You said that already,” she reminded me.

It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed that night that I was able to identify what I was feeling. _Why me?_ It wasn’t an agonizing thought. I genuinely wanted to know what had happened, what planets had aligned, that had made all this possible? There was a one in seven billion chance that this would happen, and it had. It was just weird. I laughed at the thought and then shut up before someone could hear me laughing alone in the bathroom and think I was completely insane.

***

The next day was the first day I was going to be able to try out my new attitude on Madam. As usual, she started her lecture as we warmed up at the barre. She stopped when she came to me to correct my turn out. The only thing that was different was that I was able to look her in the eye as she stared me down. I stared at her reflection in the mirror and, by the time she was finished talking about how our lessons were more important than frivolous shopping trips (honestly she wasn’t even trying to pretend she wasn’t talking about me anymore), I had a smug smile on my face. I wasn’t blushing, and I wasn’t looking away. I just looked straight at Madam with a knowing smirk. _She can’t touch me_ , I thought, and then took my spot on the floor to get to learn the day’s floor routine.

By the time B and I were off to class, she could tell that I was in a good mood and noted, “So I guess Kate’s theory is working.” 

“Either that, or I’ve just stopped caring altogether,” I shrugged. We sat at our desks in history class and I mulled it over. “Remember before, how you always used to say that I was stressing too much over it?”

“Uh, yes,” Bianca said slowly, as if she obviously remembered it.

“Well, I guess I just finally agree with you on that point. I’m dating a great person, I have awesome friends, _I_ know my dancing isn’t suffering. Why should I have all this added stress? There’s going to be a lot more to stress about in the next couple of months. I’m not going to be worried about something I know I’m already good at.”

Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. Focus on the things you’re not good at, like dressing yourself, or maths.”

In another minute, our history professor walked in and told us to stop giggling.


	27. Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It would be a lie to say that I had no trepidations about Harry being with the army for the week. The combination of a person like Harry in a regiment known as the Booze & Royals was worrisome. Before William and Kate had gotten engaged, when they were still dating, pictures would surface of the Wales brothers out with the lads in nightclubs, blatantly making fools out of themselves with other women. Bianca had shown me one of these photos when we’d gone out to breakfast the morning after Harry had been papped seemingly grabbing my boob. It had been humiliating for me, and I hadn’t been remotely close to being in a relationship with Harry, let alone one that had lasted for several years. In the end, it turned out that I’d had nothing to worry about. Apparently Harry was perfectly well behaved during his week away, and on Saturday I headed over to KP to wait for Will (who had also been with the RAF while Kate stayed in London for some wedding planning) and Harry’s return with Kate.

“Once Harry gets back, he’ll be able to talk to Clarence House about protection from the press,” she told me. Since that first picture in the club, I’d had to leave the gates of the academy under a constant barrage of camera flashes. It seemed to have gotten worse over the past couple of days, especially since I’d very publicly stepped out with Kate. Of course, that had been part of the plan and certainly my own choice, but I still didn’t think that it was too outrageous of me to feel uncomfortable with the fact that people knew where I was all the time, especially when I was travelling on public transportation. 

“Also,” Kate started, placing a hand on my arm. I turned to her, expecting something serious. The look on her face was nervous, which was something I’d never seen on Kate before. She was always elegant, graceful, and never unsure. “William and I have something to ask you.”

Slowly, I nodded, “Okay.”

But Kate didn’t get a chance to tell me what it was. A man in a red coat opened the door to the apartment. William walked through the door first, carrying his cornflower blue RAF duffel bag. Kate wrapped her arms around him and I looked away politely as they reunited. Harry came through next, dropped his camouflage pack, and held his arms out. I jumped into them with a giggle, wrapping my legs around his waist. I usually never felt that light unless I was with my pas de deux partner, Marcus. “Hello darling,” Harry greeted me after I pulled away from the juicy kiss I’d planted on his mouth.

“Hey,” I smiled at him, placing my feet back on the floor, keeping my arms wrapped around his waist. “I missed you.”

“I missed you,” he kissed my nose. “I’ve been good.”

“I know,” I assured him. “I’m going to reward you.”

Picking me back up, Harry threw me over his shoulder. I protested, shrieking and giggling. Will and Kate hardly noticed as Harry carried me back to his bedroom.

***

I woke up the next morning to the shrill ring of the phone. Groaning, I propped myself up on my elbows and swatted Harry awake. Muttering something about the time under his breath, he rubbed his eyes and picked up the receiver. “Harry.” Pausing, he eyed me, his mouth curving up into a smile. “Catherine, it’s eight in the morning. All right, I’ll ask her.” Tilting the phone away from his mouth, he asked me, “Kate wants to know if you want to join them for breakfast.”

“Is she making French toast?” I asked, excited. Kate’s French toast was heavenly. When Harry nodded, I grabbed the phone out of his hands. “We’ll be down in two seconds,” I informed her before immediately hanging up and jumping out of bed. Harry chuckled and joined me at the sink to brush his teeth. I practically skipped down the long hallway into the kitchen, where Kate was in a robe monogrammed _PWW_ in loopy cursive. William was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. I was embarrassed to see them dressed so casually and blushed, but then felt silly. I was only wearing a pair of Harry’s athletic shorts and a sweatshirt – not much more than them. Inhaling, I sat at the kitchen table and patted my belly. “I’m ready when you are, Chef!”

With a charming light laugh, Kate placed a plate of French toast covered in syrup and powdered sugar and fresh berries in front of me. I tucked in, barely listening to the conversation around me. Harry was talking to Will about wedding plans, about whether or not “Granny” had decided what she wanted them to be wearing or something. Humming to myself, I popped a raspberry in my mouth, savoring the sweet, delicious burst of juice. It wasn’t until I came up for air and a glug of orange juice that I noticed that the three of them were staring at me. “What?” I asked, choking down a bite of French toast.

Kate smiled kindly at me. “William and I were hoping that you could come to the wedding.”

I was lucky that my jaw didn’t actually hit the table, or my bottom teeth surely would have been knocked out. Of course, she had given me the invitation for Christmas but that had been before I’d disappeared randomly for several weeks. I was unconsciously shaking my head when Harry started with a low, “Roxanna." 

I had to be in trouble in some way. I was never “Roxanna” unless it was William or Charles…or when Harry was annoyed with me. “I can’t,” I insisted. “I have school.”

“It’s a bank holiday,” Kate explained, and I could tell she felt awkward about saying this.

All right, so I couldn’t hide behind school. “Kate, it’s…it’s just…I mean, if I go to the wedding, that’s a big step.” I looked to Harry for confirmation. “That’s saying something.” He nodded. I looked to Kate and William to back me up, but they didn’t. “And…and besides, if I’m there won’t it take the attention away from Kate? I mean, that’s why you go alone to your friends’ weddings, right?”

Kate let out the closest thing to a scoff that someone as nice as she could do. “Roxanna, believe me, _nothing_ is going to take the attention away from me on that day.”

She was right. Dumbfounded, I looked at Harry. “What do you think about all this?”

Harry reached out and took my hand. “I think you’re very important to me,” he murmured into my fingers. “And that day is going to be very important to me. So it’s important to me that you be there.”

This was unfair. He was manipulating my feelings! How could Kate even ask me after making her French toast? How could she ask me at all? Before I could answer, Kate offered me an out. “You don’t have to answer right now,” she assured me. “I know it’s a lot to think over.”

I laughed sarcastically. “Uh, yeah, just a bit.” Then, with Harry's words about the importance of my presence still ringing in my ears, I sighed. “As long as someone will help me pick out what to wear.”

Kate flew up from her seat and hugged me. “Yay! I’m so happy you’ll be there, Roxy! It’ll be so much fun! Harry’s going to make bacon butties!”

Giggling and excited, somewhat despite myself, I frowned at her. “What's a bacon butty?”

***

Now that I was officially going to the wedding of the century, there were a lot of logistics to work out. The Middletons were getting rooms at a hotel called the Goring for their guests who were going. I knew that Kate’s parents were self-made millionaires, and while William’s family certainly could have paid for the wedding, the Middletons were conscious of the fact that much of the public might resent footing the bill for her wedding guests, the dress, and whatever else she needed. We called up Kate’s parents and let them know that I would be coming to the wedding, and that I would be staying at the hotel that night, so that they could add me to the list of people allowed to stay that night and reserve my room. “Roxy’s coming?” Carole enthusiastically asked over the phone. “Good for you, darling!”

“Thanks. I might need your help, though. I have no idea what I’m going to wear.”  
“Oh, don't be silly! Of course we'll help you!" she assured me.  
When I got back to the dorms, I told Bianca that I was going and she hugged me so hard that she lifted me off the floor. Laughing, I asked, “Why are you so excited?”

“Because! Now I can live vicariously through you!” she clapped her hands together. “And we’re going to go shopping, and pick you out an outfit, and it’s going to be so much fun!”

Sure enough, the next weekend Carole came to London from Berkshire (which, I found out after Kate and her mom laughed at me, was weirdly pronounded BARK-shire, not BURK-shire). The three of us, plus Bianca, all went to pick out an outfit. I was trying on dresses in Reiss while Kate explained to me from the other side of the curtain how the day was going to go. “So we’re going to have a coach pick up my guests from the hotel,” she started. “Then, after the ceremony, we’ll go to Buckingham Palace for a brunch reception.”

“Brunch?” I asked. That sounded kind of lame. Weren’t wedding receptions supposed to take place at night, when it was appropriate for everyone to get plastered?

“Yeah, and then everyone will go to Clarence house, and then there will be another reception in the evening,” she explained.

Ah, that explained it. Two receptions – I should have known. I opened the curtain and turned my back to Bianca so she could zip up the dress. “Two receptions,” I murmured, holding my hair up. “So…does that mean I need a second dress?”

“That’s exactly what that means,” Kate confirmed.

I blew out a breath. This was going to cost me. There was no way I was going to get free stuff for the royal wedding, not at a time when everyone was able to scrutinize me. Too bad the RBA hadn’t offered me a Royal Wedding stipend in my scholarship. “Okay, turn around,” Bianca encouraged once I was zipped in.

“How’s this?” I asked, brushing invisible lint off of the seafoam dress I was wearing.

Carole nodded. “Wonderful. I think that’s it, then.” She looked to Kate, who also nodded, confirming this decision. “You’re going to need a fascinator.”

“A what now?” The three of them snickered at me before Kate explained that a fascinator were those things that you stuck on your head that looked like feathers. “Uh…I don’t think I’m the kind of person who wears fascinators.”

“Well you are now, darling,” Carole corrected me. “If you’re not wearing one, you’ll stand out as the one woman who isn’t wearing a fascinator.”

Giving Bianca a desperate look, I shook my head. “But…but…I’m American. We don’t wear fascinators.”

Kate and Carole shared a look. They were the kind of close where that was all they had to do to communicate. “Well…we’ll think about the fascinator,” Kate appeased me. “Right, let’s get you a dress for the night reception.”

***

An official seat at the wedding to be watched around the world was far from the only perk to being Harry’s girlfriend. Everything about it was just…delightful. Before, in the first part of the year, I had been desperately trying not to give into my feelings. In contrast, now I was all in and tumbling headfirst at break-neck speed. During the week, Harry would come over and we’d hang out in my room, not even doing anything. We’d just laugh and talk, but it was so much fun! Before we’d kissed at KP, I’d gotten that stage-fright feeling, and I always got it now when Harry was around, which made it impossible not to giggle and smile. Bianca gave us privacy by going to the library, but sometimes she’d come back to the room and roll her eyes. “You aren’t even saying anything funny!” she’d point out, laughing with us because our good mood was contagious.

On the weekends we’d go to the pub near KP where everyone knew Harry, or hang out in Regent’s Park. I’d read for school, my head in Harry’s lap while he did work on his ipad. He’d tangle my fingers in his hair and lean down for the occasional kiss. I was surprised at how few of these moments were captured by the media – maybe they just didn’t care anymore, but I suspected that Harry had brokered a deal with them, because not too shortly after we'd become an official item, he gave an interview about his charity work in Africa that aired on the BBC. I watched it with Bianca, surprised when the interviewer asked, “So your relationship with Roxanna DeLaSearle has gotten a lot of attention over the past couple of months. What do you have to say about that?”

Harry smiled that blushing, Diana smile and I felt my face flush. “Just that she’s a wonderful girl, and she works really hard at school. I think that’s important – that we both have our own things. I have my military career and she has ballet, so we have a lot going on outside of the relationship. We also have gone about it so slowly, because I know that for the foreseeable future, at least, she’s going to be sort of thrown into this world that I live in, and I want her to be slowly integrated into that.”

“And how serious is this relationship getting? Should we be preparing ourselves for another royal wedding sometime soon?”

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, but she’s a lovely girl and she makes me very happy. It’s important to me, of course, to protect her from any negativity in the press.”

“Wipe that smile off your face, it’s blinding me,” Bianca made fun, giving me a shove.

“But he’s so cute! Isn’t he so cute?” I gushed.

“Yes, he’s very cute,” she rolled her eyes. To be fair, I made Bianca play the, “Isn’t My Boyfriend Cute?” game a lot. 

***

One night, when I’d gone over to KP, Harry was telling me all about the people who would be at the wedding. I was taking the insane amount of bobby pins out of my hair from class that day while he rattled off names. “David Cameron will be there, and his wife, but don’t worry – they’re perfectly nice. Um…oh, yeah, and Posh and Becks.” I was trying to figure out how I was going to be able to not freak out and turn into a superfan around one of the Spice Girls when, out of nowhere, Harry asked, “Do you want to go to Monaco?”

Taking the last pin out of my hair, I let it out of its bun, cursing the fact that I didn’t have time to shower. I’d just have to look like I was trying to pull off the casual waves look. Scrunching it with one hand, I turned to where Harry was laying on the bed and calmly asked, “What?”

“You know, Monaco. Do you want to go? You have spring vacation right before the wedding, and I’m on leave. I just thought we could do something fun before all the wedding stress.” Slowly, I made my way over to the bed and sat down. Harry sat up and gave me a slow kiss. “So, do you want to?”

Biting back the smirk that was playing at the corners of my lips, I answered, “Mhm. Yeah, I think I’d like to do that.”

“What’s funny?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” I shook my head. “Dating you sure does have its perks.”

He nodded. “Well if you’re just doing it for the trips to Monaco…I’m kind of okay with that, actually.”

Lying back on the bed, Harry kissed my neck and shoulders. “So, what’s Monaco like?”

“Have you never been?” he asked.

“Uh, no, I’ve _nev-ah bean_ ,” I grossly exaggerated Harry’s accent. “The only time I’ve ever even heard of it is because of Grace Kelly,” I confessed.

Harry chuckled. “Have you heard of Monte Carlo?”

“Sure, that’s kind of like Vegas, right?”

Amused by my simple ignorance, he chuckled. “It’s like Vegas times a hundred. We can see it, if you want. Maybe stop over in Paris.”

“I think you’re just tops,” I told him.

He kissed the tip of my nose. “Well I think you’re pretty great as well. Do you want to go to a movie?” Then the two of us decided which movie to go to – me and my cute boyfriend who had just asked me to go on a romantic vacation with him.


	28. Pippa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The closer it got to the wedding day, the less I saw of Will and Kate. For some of the time, Harry and Will were on their respective bases, flying helicopters or sword-fighting or doing who knows what. When that happened, Bianca, Kate and I would hang out, especially when B and I had a test coming up and were dying to take a study break and escape from campus. KP and Clarence House were the perfect getaways. There were no distractions (or at least only good ones), and they were too big to feel like we were getting cabin fever, like how we usually felt in our cramped little room. While Kate planned the wedding, B and I would pour over our textbooks and our notes uninterrupted, until one of us finally looked up and proclaimed our brain fried. When that happened, we’d order take away, open a bottle of wine, and turn on the Spice Girls full blast. This even worked if B and I were working on our dancing, because we’d just go into the room Harry and I had kissed in the first time. It had hardwood floors and mirrors everywhere, so it made for a pretty good studio. I loved being on campus and I loved Covent Garden, but now that Harry and I were official, I dreaded turning a corner and bumping into Madam, or smacking my eye on a telephoto lens. 

Bianca and I were working on _tours jetes_ across the floor when Kate walked in the room. “Hey Kate,” I greeted her, coming out of my landing pose. It was immediately apparent that she was overjoyed about something. “What’s up?”

“My sister’s coming!” 

“Huh?” Bianca asked, wiping the sweat off her chest. She didn’t wait for Kate to explain before she went up on pointe and wrapped her back leg around her in an attitude. 

“Keep your chest up, B,” I reminded her. She corrected herself and I nodded. “Good.” Seeing that we weren’t paying attention, Kate walked over to the record player and took the needle off with a scratch. “Whoa! Kate! Careful with the antiques,” I jokingly scolded her.

“You need to stop dancing _right now_ and get ready!” Kate urged.

I looked at Bianca, who shrugged, looking just as confused as I was. “Ready for what?” I asked.

Kate looked exasperated. “Well I don’t _know_ ,” she explained, "but Pippa always knows where something’s going on.”

Bianca stepped forward, ready to answer for me. “Kate, we can’t go out tonight. We need to rehearse for spring shop.” Spring shop was the workshop at the end of the year, which would decide our final marks.

“You’ve been rehearsing for spring shop all day!” she groaned, “and all of this wedding music is starting to sound the same, and I never want to hear the words, ‘floral arrangement’ for the rest of my life.”

I was crumbling and looked at Bianca in desperation. She shook her head. “We really shouldn’t…”

“Fine. You two keep dancing and being boring, and Pippa and I will be downstairs, dancing to the Spice Girls, and you two aren’t invited.” With that, Kate turned around on her heel, stuck her nose in the air, and left the room. It was obviously an empty threat, and I was starting to feel like B and I were doing well for spring shop…but when I looked at Bianca, she was chewing on her bottom lip, like she was worried about something.

“What?” I asked slowly.

Her eyes snapped up at me like she’d forgotten I was in the room. “Have you met Pippa Middleton before?” she asked. When I shook my head slowly she tapped her forefinger on her lips, obviously thinking hard about something. “She’s known to be kind of…wild.”

I narrowed my eyes at her and suspiciously asked, “What?”

“She has a reputation of being a party girl. You heard Kate,” Bianca gestured to where Kate had just left the room. “She always knows what’s going on.”

“So? Harry has a reputation of being a hard partier, and last Tuesday the biggest thrill of his life was landing on Free Parking and you having to go to jail, directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200,” I reminded her. It had been a hell of an intense Monopoly game. “Besides, what’s she going to do? Tie us down and force feed us Jell-O shots?”

Bianca had to smirk at this ridiculous mental picture. “I’m just saying,” she held her hands up in self-defense. “Don’t get sucked into anything. We have spring shop auditions to think of.”

I knew that Bianca’s caution was only because she cared about me, and my talent, and that she didn’t want me to squander it for a night on the town with the Middleton sisters. Although it was starting to seem just a little bit like every time I met a new, interesting person, she had to be a Debbie Downer about it. When I’d met Harry, she’d warned me against getting close to him, and now she was being weird about Pippa. I told her I was going to take a shower and, as I washed the sweat off my body, I thought more about Bianca’s reservations. Spring shop and exams weren’t for another month, and I knew she was working her butt off. I had to work hard to make good marks in our academic classes, too. I couldn’t necessarily always say the same about the dancing. I had worked hard to get where I was, and I worked hard in workshops and conditioning classes, but the truth was that I had already started out with at least a little natural talent. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have even been at the RBA in the first place. I had noticed, the further into the academic year we got, I just didn’t seem to have to put as much thought into it as B and the other girls did.

The guilt for even having that thought hit me immediately. Basically I was assuming that my talent was natural and therefore superior to Bianca’s, which was contrived. I genuinely didn’t think that I was a better dancer than Bianca – she was incredibly talented. We were just different.

As I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, I shook my head. It didn’t matter. We were done practicing for today. Exams and spring shop would come, and whatever happened would happen. There was no point in feeling guilty about it, or being annoyed by whatever was going on with Bianca. Tonight I was just going to enjoy another Spice Girls dance party with my friends. 

I was changed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and had piled my hair on top of my head in a loose bun when I left Harry’s room. From the hallway, I could hear loud laughter coming in the kitchen. By the time I got there Kate, Bianca, and Pippa (who I recognized from the paparazzi shots) were laughing hysterically about something, and they’d already opened the wine. “She didn’t!” Pippa gasped, clutching her stomach.

“She did! For the first like, three months every time I said we could hop on the coach, she thought I was talking about some old man.”

I blushed, knowing that they were talking about me. “It’s not my fault,” I broke in, revealing myself. “We call them busses in America.”

The girls took deep breaths, trying to calm their laughter. Once she was composed enough, Kate poured me a glass of wine. “Roxy, this is my little sister, Pippa. Pip, Roxy.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I shook her hand. Pippa was gorgeous, just like Kate. The family resemblance was obvious. She was a little more tanned, and definitely shorter, but still beautiful. I wondered if people thought what had gone wrong when they looked at Grace and I, who looked in no way related. 

“You, too,” Pippa said, giving me an up and down inspection. “I’ve heard a lot about you. So you’ve nabbed Harry, have you?”

Well that was blunt. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that…” I took a sip of wine and flicked my eyes to Bianca. 

She gave me an “I told you so” look and changed the subject. “So, Pippa, do you live in the city or in Berkshire near your parents?”

With a disgusted look, Pippa rolled her eyes. “God, no. I live in the city. I could never survive out there in the country with nothing to do.” Even with Bianca’s attempt at a distraction, however, Pippa was not to be deterred. “Roxy, Kate’s told me all about you, naturally. Mostly because I kept being nosy. You _have_ to tell me – what’s New York City like?”

The fact that Bianca and Pippa had never been to New York City was completely absurd to me. I’d been taking the New Jersey Transit train into the city since before I could remember. We went in the wintertime, to see the tree at Rockerfeller Center and catch a performance of _The Nutcracker_ at the Met. We went in the springtime, watching the models coming and going into Bryant Park for fashion week. While most of the summertime was spent down the shore, there were days when we’d splay ourselves out on a picnic basket in Central Park. Most every fall after 2001 we’d make the pilgrimage to Ground Zero to remember 9/11, and my mom and I would wrap our arms around each other as we cried into the seemingly still smouldering remains and, later, the memorial fountains. So the thought that there were people out there, especially Pippa who had more money than God, who had never been to the City was a foreign concept to me. “It’s um…it’s huge,” I told her.

Pippa sighed with longing. “I’d love to go. I’m so jealous that Kate went for New Years. Why didn’t you just go to school there?” she asked, sipping her wine.

Shrugging, I told her, “I don’t know, I’ve just sort of done that. I wanted to try something new.”

She leaned close and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Well it worked out for you here, eh?” she giggled.

I smiled. Pippa was abrupt, but I liked her so far. 

We moved into the living room and Kate headed over to the stereo system. “Right ladies. Time to unwind,” she said, turning the volume up as the bass line for “Wannabe” started to play. Pippa knew all the words and therefore fit in with us perfectly.

***

I heard the giggling before I opened my eyes. We’d gone to bed late, after Pippa had tried to weasel information about Kate’s dress out of her. Kate hadn’t budged and inch and we’d all gone to bed unsatisfied, with Pippa still plotting ways to sneak a peek at the dress. I’d passed out in Harry’s bed, (just minutes ago, it felt like) hugging a pillow that smelled like him to my chest, and now I was awake, and all too aware of the fact that there were other people in my room, and that I had a pounding headache from one too many glasses of wine last night.

“Wakey wakey,” Pippa giggled, shaking me gently. I grumbled something unintelligible that I meant to be, “Go away.” Pippa, ever determined, shook me a little harder. “Come on, Rox. It’s time for a run.”

I hugged the pillow closer to me and buried myself deeper into the covers. “Huh?” Why was Pippa – who I had met yesterday – in my room, and using a nickname for me?

Before I could process the fact that this was strange, she was laying down on my bed next to me. “Come on, we’re going for a run.”

I rolled over on my back and looked from her on the bed to where Kate and B were grinning at me. “What the hell?” I asked, sitting straight up. The three of them giggled and eventually I did, too, at the absurdity of the situation.

“I told you,” Bianca said to Kate and Pippa. “Roxy hates exercise, and being woken up.”

“So you decided to do ?” I snapped.

She pointed to Kate and Pippa. “It was their idea!”

Kate sat on the foot of my bed and tried to explain. “We were going to go for a run in the Gardens. You should come,” she encouraged.

“Why on _earth_ would I want to come?” I asked, exasperated, as Pippa leaned over to the bedside table and started rummaging through the drawers. For some reason, I didn’t care, even though I knew that Harry kept personal things in there. Like condoms.

“Whoa, lucky lady, check this out,” Pippa giggled, taking out a string of foil packets.

“Ew!” Kate squealed, jumping off the bed.

“Large! Wow! Who knew the Waleses were large?” Pippa could hardly make this embarrassing statement since she was laughing so hard. 

The laughter was infectious, and even I was giggling as I tore the condoms from her hand, put them back in the drawer, and shut it with a slam. “Oh my God, nosy!” I scolded her. Pippa just shrugged, apparently not offended at the accusation. She _had_ called herself nosy last night, after all. “What time is it?”

Kate gave me a guilty look before responding, “Six.”

“In the _morning_?!” I screeched.

Bianca held her hands up in self-defense. “I told them not to!”

“And yet, here you are!” I gestured wildly with my hands, the way I always did when I was angry. It was a Jersey habit. “Why do we have to go running at six in the morning?”

“Because the park isn’t crowded, and because it’s good to start your work out in the morning,” Kate answered.

“But I don’t work out,” I pointed out.

Pippa frowned, gave me a once over, and then asked, “You _don’t_?”

“I know. It’s one of the evil injustices of life,” Bianca told them.

“Ballet is a workout,” I reminded them. “Besides my abuela shoved carbs down my throat for years. Loving carbs is in my _genes_. If I didn’t dance I’d be 300lbs.”

“Well yeah, but don’t you like _actually_ working out?” Kate asked. 

I paused before asking, “Are you…is that a joke?”

Ignoring me, Kate shrugged. “Well you’re up now. You might as well come with us. Come on, get dressed.” Groaning, I got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. “We’ll see you in the kitchen!” she called after me. I shut the door a little harder than I should have and brushed my teeth. 

When I came out, I blinked. Pippa was still lying on the bed, clad in running gear, looking at a picture Harry had in a frame. There were two pictures on his nightstand, one of him with William and his mom when he was little, and another of the two of us. “This is cute,” she said, flashing the picture of Harry and I my way. 

“Oh, thanks. My mom took it over New Years,” I told her, climbing on the bed to look at the picture again. Times Square was illuminated behind us, the ball hovering in the background, waiting to drop. We were out on the balcony of the hotel room Will and Kate had been staying in, and it was freezing. My long sleeved, navy blue sparkling dress only came up to just above the knee, so I was wearing Harry’s jacket outside. Our cheeks were rosy and our teeth had been chattering, but we were both grinning like idiots, leaning into each other for warmth.

“Were you official then?” Pippa asked. She still didn’t leave as I started rummaging through Harry’s drawers for a pair of basketball shorts.

“Um…no,” I had to think about it. I was also wondering if she had any plans on leaving before I got undressed, because it really didn't seem like it. Pippa must have just been one of those girls with lots of girl friends, who didn't think boundaries were necessary or even existed at all. When you had costume changes and had to be practically naked around fifty other girls, boundaries pretty quickly wore off anyway, so it wasn't anything I wasn't used to. 

Pippa chuckled at my hesitation. “You had to think about that?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Basically I did a bunch of stupid stuff and…actually, a lot of it was Guy’s fault.”

She rolled her eyes. “I get that. Men can be so infuriating, especially Guy.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, to be fair, I postponed being official by like a month by not talking to Harry about it,” I confessed.

Pippa laughed and sat up. “What?”

She clearly wasn’t going to leave, and as I'd predicted, Pippa didn’t bat an eye as I stripped down to my underoos and pulled on Harry’s shorts. In an effort to make a long story short, I decided to give her the abridged version of what had happened between Harry and I. “Well, Guy said this stupid thing to me at polo.”

“Why would you listen to anything he says?” Pippa asked knowingly. “His personal mission in life is to offend as many women as possible. Besides, he was probably sloshed.”

“Probably, but I didn’t know that then! So anyway, he basically said that Harry was only interested in me because I was playing ‘hard to get’ and that after we slept together he’d drop me, and I didn’t want that to happen, so I disappeared.”

“Oh well, as long as you had a good reason,” Pippa smirked.

I rolled my eyes, turned my back to her, took off my shirt, and put an athletic bra on. “Well at least I realized I was being an idiot.”

“Have you met HM yet?” she asked, shortening Her Majesty.

“God, no,” I shivered. “I’m terrified. I was scared to meet Will and Kate. I was so terrified to meet Prince Charles that Harry had to trick me into it.”

Pippa raised an eyebrow. “You were scared of _Kate_?”

“Well, not scared like she’d stab me. Scared like intimidated.”

“I made her pee in the sand once.”

I blinked. “What?”

Pippa giggled, remembering the story. “We were on holiday in Mustique, and we were on the beach, and she had to pee really bad. So I started making all of these jokes, and making sounds like running water, and she was running to the house, but she couldn't make it.” She was laughing so hard she could hardly finish the story for me. “So she kept running to the house, peeing the whole way!”

I doubled over, clutching my stomach, trying to imagine it. “How – old – was – she?” I gasped through my giggles.

“She was thirteen! Way too old to be peeing in your pants,” Pippa confided. “So think about that the next time you’re intimidated.”

When she and I reached the kitchen, Bianca and Kate were stretching. I pulled my hair up and turned to Kate. “So Kate, if we start making you laugh while you’re running, are you just gonna piss your way through Kensington Gardens?”

Obviously annoyed, Kate narrowed her eyes at Pippa. “Phillipa, _must_ you tell that story to everyone?”

“She hasn’t told it to B yet,” I helpfully pointed out.

“Yes, and let’s keep it that way.” Kate gave the two of us a warning look, daring us to tell Bianca. Snickering, we jogged past her and out the door, heading towards the trail around the Gardens.

***

When we got back to the apartment, the four of us showered and went out for brunch in one of the local haunts where we were safe from prying eyes. We were sipping bloody Marys when Pippa volunteered, “Well I, for one, am glad that you and Harry are official. Now they can stop telling lies that he and I are an item.”

Bianca almost spit out her drink. I couldn’t find a single thing that I disliked about Pippa, but I knew that the trashier tabloids weren’t shy about criticizing the Middleton family for being too “middle class.” The Middletons were not middle class, at least not by my definition of the word. Kate’s parents were multi-millionaires. They probably could have bought my house and turned it into their personal pingpong room if they wanted to. But that was the difference, I guessed, between being British and being American. In America, almost everyone was _nouveau riche_ , besides like, Anderson Cooper. These sorts of things made no difference; but here, the Middletons would always be “middle class.” (Well, except for Kate, who would shortly become a member of the royal family.) Since Bianca had been raised in the world of aristocrats, she and Pippa were…quite different. As in, Bianca probably wouldn't have brought up that there were rumors that she was dating my boyfriend. 

“Was that the rumor?” I asked, amused my Pippa’s abruptness.

“Before you came into the picture,” she confirmed. “It was so strange. We were in the same places occasionally, out at the same clubs, by pure coincidence. Then they got engaged," she jerked her head in Kate's direction, "so of course we were doing rehearsals and plannings together. So then they just started reporting that we were sleeping together. It was quite strange and awkward to have to see him all the time when the entire world thought I’d slept with him.” She paused and then placed a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t, by the way.” Laughing, I assured her that I hadn’t thought so in the first place. 

“Did you say you were at the same clubs a lot?” Bianca asked.

Pippa nodded. “Yeah, all the time,” she said with the wave of a hand. “When he’d come back from being with the Army he’d want to blow off some steam, I guess. We would get so trashed. _Not_ some of my more flattering paparazzi pictures.”

Chuckling, I agreed that Pippa was probably right, but didn’t miss the pointed look Bianca gave me. So Pippa went out a lot, and so had Harry. But…he wasn’t doing it anymore, now that he was with me. Harry liked stying in…I thought. Chewing on my bottom lip, it occurred to me that I might have been holding Harry back from doing something he wanted, and that didn’t make me feel great. Before I had more time to think about it, though, Pippa was telling another embarrassing story about Kate slipping and falling in public, so I had to pay close attention.


	29. Paris, Je'Taime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Madam and Monsieur choreographed spring workshop, and they didn’t make it easy. Every day after school the other girls and I worked up a drenching sweat learning the routines. To keep things fair, they broke our class into groups of threes or fours to do variations during the pieces. It was extremely challenging and extremely exhausting, and by the time spring break rolled around, I was _more_ than ready to hop on a plane to Paris. “Don’t forget to pack a tiny bikini,” Harry reminded me the night before we left.

I rolled my eyes and tossed another pair of socks into my suitcase. “How can one bikini be tinier than the next?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Fox, but make it happen.” I laughed before telling Harry I’d meet him at Clarence House tomorrow. We were leaving from there and flying commercial from Heathrow, because I still wasn’t thrilled about flying private (although we’d done it coming back from New York City), and because the public wouldn’t be thrilled about paying for us to take a vacation in Paris. Even though Harry paid for these things from his mother’s estate as opposed to using public funds, that sort of distinction didn’t seem to matter to the general population. “Are you excited?” he asked.

“Excited to go to Paris with you? Eh, I can take it or leave it,” I lied with a smirk.

Harry chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fox.”

I hung up and tossed my phone onto my bed, double-checking my packing list. “Okay, I have outfits for Paris, outfits for Monaco, and some dresses in case we go anywhere fancy.” Bianca, Kate, Pippa, and I had all done some shopping for the trip, since I had absolutely nothing to wear that was suitable for the warm climate of Monaco. 

“Roxanna?” Bianca asked timidly from her bed where she was flipping through the pages of _Cosmo_. 

I raised an eyebrow. Bianca was never timid about…anything, frankly. She had certainly never once called me by my full name in almost a year of knowing each other. “Yes?” I asked suspiciously.

“Have you…considered the possibility…that Harry _may_ tell you he loves you in Paris?”

Zipping my suitcase closed, I stood up and whirled around to face her. “No, I haven’t considered the possibility.” Was my voice high-pitched? It sounded high-pitched. Had the temperature just risen several degrees? Was Bianca suddenly itchy for no reason?

“Well…maybe you should.”

Feeling like I had no kneecaps all of a sudden, I collapsed down on my bed. “What makes you think that?”

“Aside from the fact that you’re _in_ love?” she asked, snarky.

“ _Love_?” I screeched, immediately giving away that she was right. “Who said anything about love? You’re crazy. Love.” With too many huffs to actually achieve blowing off this accusation, I stood again, unzipped my suitcase, and started rearranging things because…because I had to do something to keep my hands occupied or I’d pull out all of my hair.

Bianca waited a few minutes before saying, “So I’m right then.” She didn’t wait for me to say anything, probably because she knew I had no intention of admitting it to her. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but you’re going to have to tell Harry something if he tells you in Paris.”

“He’s not going to tell me in Paris!” I insisted hysterically.

“How do you know?”

“How do you know he is?”

“He told me.”

A sound burst out of my mouth but whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t actual words. I felt like a stone had dropped down into my stomach. “What do you mean he _told_ you?”

Bianca idly flipped the page of her magazine. “He told me,” she repeated with an innocent shrug. “It was one of the nights where you were practicing late and I came back here, and we were watching a TOWIE marathon and he kept asking me if I thought _you_ thought that your relationship was serious, and I kept saying that I didn’t know, but I would assume so, and he kept asking and asking and finally I just guessed what he wanted. So he asked if I thought you felt the same way and I said I don’t know, he should ask you.”

“Well thanks a lot, Bianca!”  
“You’re joking, surely,” she narrowed her eyes at me. “You can’t _possibly_ be upset at the fact that your gorgeous, perfect boyfriend is in love with you.”

“Upset” was actually a good word. I wasn’t mad, but I was terrified. I’d never said that to anyone. “I’m not angry or anything,” I explained. “I’ve just…never done this before.”

Bianca beamed at me. “That is _so_ sweet! Doesn’t it take some of the pressure off, though? Knowing he’ll say it back?”

In theory, that should have been true, but it somehow wasn’t comforting. Once Harry and I said that, we couldn’t take it back. In a relationship, you couldn’t rewind, you couldn’t put it on ice. If we said that to each other, there was the implication if not overt understanding that there was at least some sort of future there - a future that I didn’t know if I could afford to think about. Yes, every girl dreamed of being a princess and yes, I both loved and was in love with Harry. But if we said that, and things didn’t work out, it would make it even more heartbreaking in the end. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk that.

Not too surprisingly, my heart was pounding too vigorously to get any sleep that night. The excitement for vacation combined with my anxiety about the “L” word made that impossible. Annoyed that I’d have under-eye bags and dark circles for our flight to Paris, I tossed and turned all night before finally getting out of bed early and meeting the car that would take me to Clarence House.

***

I’d been afraid that getting through the airport would be a hassle, but surprisingly, it was relatively easy. Since Harry had given the interview, the photographers had taken a break from us, which was very, very welcome. We boarded the plane like we had at New Years, when we were the last ones on. The flight from London was like a flight from New York to D.C., and I was jealous at how easy it was for people in Europe to travel from one amazing place to the next. Before I knew it, the plane was hitting the tarmac and taxiing to the gate at Charles De Gaulle. I was so excited to actually be in France that I had almost forgotten all about what Bianca had said last night. Besides, if an “I love you” was going to come, I didn’t think it would be on an airplane.

“Oh my God! I’m in Paris!” I squealed, standing up and clapping my hands together. “Paris! Paris! Paris!”

“Yes, my darling, we’re aware,” Harry smirked good-naturedly. Turning to the rest of the first class passengers he explained, “I apologize on behalf of my loud lady. It’s her first time in Paris. _And_ she’s an American.” The cabin laughed. Harry gave my hand a squeeze. “What do you want to do first?”

“Oh my God. I don’t know!” With a gasp, I reached into my purse. “I’ll check my guidebook!”

“Oh, Lord. Put that away. I don’t want anyone thinking I need a _guidebook_." He pronounced the word like someone had suggested he eat slugs and shoved the book back in my purse. 

Laughing, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his face. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Am I being too loud and American?” I heard the distinct sound of a picture being taken with a phone but kept kissing him. “Don’t be embarrassed by me. I just want us to have a romantic trip to Paris!”

Laughing, Harry wrapped his arms around me and dropped me low in an old movie-like kiss. The other passengers whooped and clapped. My heart pounded in my ears and I felt my face get hot. “How’s that for romance?” I giggled, satisfied.

The Air France stewardesses let the other passengers go before Paolo took our carry-ons and we left the plane. Outside the gate, paparazzi blocked our path almost completely to the baggage claim. I wasn’t sure how they’d been alerted already but someone must have tipped them off on the plane’s wifi. We also weren’t in England anymore, which meant that the interview Harry had given meant nothing here, and the photographers were no longer hands-off. Harry muttered something under his breath and reached back to take my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I assured him. “Blind, but fine.”

“Prince Harry, will you take her to the tunnel?”

It happened faster than I could react. I didn’t have time to be horrified before Harry had turned around and was raising his arm to take a swing at the photographer. “Harry!” I shrieked. The reporter ducked, but Paolo had already grabbed Harry’s arm. Unfortunately, the flash had blinked already, and I knew that the paparazzo had gotten a picture of Harry looking like he was about to attack. Paolo put himself in between Harry and the photographer. “Get the fuck out, mate, get the fuck out of here,” Paolo instructed in a voice so calm it was scary.

“I’m a member of the press!” the reporter shouted back. “I have a right to be here!”

Paolo didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. Two men in blue uniforms wrestled the photographer out of the crowd, and more officers broke the rest of them up, shielding Harry and I and commanding in French that the paps leave us alone. They broke up eventually and I turned to Harry. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I blinked at him in disbelief. “ _Me_? I’m fine. What was _that_?”

Shaking his head, Harry warned, “He should have known better than to bring up my mother.”

Violence was unacceptable, but I did kind of see Harry’s point there. Also, the trip was already off to a weird start now and I didn’t want to make it worse by having a fight first thing after we got off the plane. I made a mental note to talk about this altercation with him later and gave him a kiss on the cheek before we followed Paolo to baggage claim.

Once Paolo had gotten our luggage, we were led into a blacked-out car. “We’ll go to the hotel and then we can decide where you want to go first.”

“Okay. Where are we staying?” I asked.

“The Raphael,” Harry told me.

“Cool,” I nodded. “Cool” was, of course, an understatement. Like the hotel in the City, this one looked like someone had cut off a chunk of Kensington Palace and plopped it down in the middle of Paris. Of course, France had it’s own palaces, no need to be borrowing pieces of England’s. I got out of the car and marveled at the outside while Paolo brought our stuff inside.

Harry placed a hand on the small of my back. “So. You’re in Paris. How do you feel?” he grinned.

Shaking my head, I turned to him and linked my hands behind his neck. “I must have done something _very_ good in a past life to deserve all this.”

“ _I_ must have done something very good in a past life to deserve _you_ ,” Harry corrected me, kissing the tip of my nose. Then, he led me into the hotel…which was basically Versailles. The drapes alone looked like they weighed roughly a ton. The inside would have made the interior of KP blush. That place looked like a McMansion compared to this. Paolo handed the key cards to Harry and we took them, getting into the gold elevator. Harry had a smirk on his face and I knew he had something up his sleeve. I was giving him a scrutinizing look but didn’t have time to ask before the elevator doors opened. Paolo led the way with our bags and held the door open for us.

“No way.” I didn’t know if I gasped, or sighed, or had ceased breathing altogether. The walls were covered in red with gold-painted leaves. All of the furniture was the same – red and gold. There were flowers on every flat surface, making the room smell heavenly. On a desk in front of a window was a bucket of champagne. The view out the window was of the Eiffel Tower. “Thanks Paolo,” I smiled at him and took Harry’s hand. “We’ll let you know when we leave.”

Paolo took his cue and left the suite with a nod. I took Harry by the lapels on his jacket. “You are a dream. Do you know that? That you’re unreal?”

“I’m very real, I promise you that,” he smiled. “You like the room?”

“Like the room?” I practically shouted. “Henry Charles Albert David. You have no idea, do you?” I asked, my eyes starting to sting with tears. He looked confused. “I’ve never, my whole life, had someone who tried to make me happy. And not just the room. The way you’re so patient with me. The things you teach me. How you’ll quiz me for a test at school. How you want to be around me, even when we’re not doing anything. You let me pick the movie, and you never let me be uncomfortable around your family. Do you…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m serious, Harry. Why me?”

Harry pressed his forehead against mine. “Roxanna, don’t you understand that I ask myself the same thing about you every day? Every morning I wake up and see your face and I think, ‘Why has she chosen me?’”

I was either going to blurt it out or kiss him, so I kissed him. _I love you_ , I thought as we fell back onto the bed, hungrily tearing at each other’s clothes. _I love you. Please love me back._

*** 

Two orgasms later, Harry and I were putting our clothes back on. I figured people had it right; Paris _was_ the most romantic city on earth. I hadn’t even been there for half an hour before I’d started feeling amorous, to put it lightly. “So, where to?” Harry asked, buttoning up his shirt. Turning around to face him, I thought about it for a minute before pointing decidedly out the window. Harry chuckled and took my hand. “Anywhere but there.”

“What?” I shouted, disappointed. “What the hell, Wales?”

“I have something planned for us tonight, and if we go to the Eiffel Tower it’ll ruin the surprise.”

Placing my hands firmly on my hips, I asked, “What have you done?”

“Well if I told you, it wouldn’t make for a very good surprise.” He clapped his hands together and instructed me to pick another place, in an attempt, I assumed, to distract me. “Pick a place, any place. Musee d’Orsay, the Opera House, Versailles, the Louvre,” he rattled off.

“The Louvre, I guess. But it’s my second choice!” I reminded him.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, Harry concluded, “If the Louvre is your plan B, you’re doing quite well.”

***

Finding my way around the Louvre was a bit more difficult than I would have hoped. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate this – it was a huge freakin’ building. When Harry and I pulled up to the front, I had asked, “Could you imagine coming to this place and thinking, ‘Oh, home sweet home?’” Harry had blushed and I remembered he lived in a palace. Even so, KP had nothing on the Louvre. It was an unfortunately true stereotype - the French were pretty damn extravagant. 

Like any tourist, I wanted to check out the Mona Lisa and the Last Supper, which were allegedly in the same room…if I could ever find it. The Louvre wasn’t set up like any old art museum – the hallways twisted and turned with staircases popping up unexpectedly. The layout of KP was practically a straight line compared to this place. Harry had offered to help me find my way around, but I’d insisted that I could do it. After forty minutes of searching, I came up a crowded flight of stairs, only to find myself standing in front of marble statues, and started to doubt myself.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want my help?” he asked.

“No, I can do it,” I repeated, looking down at my map. Harry, of course, was horrified that I was holding a map like a regular tourist. I, however, didn’t mind it, since I _was_ a regular tourist. “It says if we come up these stairs it should be straight to our right.” Harry smirked, but said nothing. Biting down on my bottom lip and concentrating, I took his hand. “Come on, let’s go through here.” The Mona Lisa wasn’t to our right, but I decided to see if I was anywhere close. We went up another quick flight of stairs before I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Roxy? What is it?”

If I had believed in love at first sight, I would have thought that it was what I was feeling. Right in front of us was the Winged Victory of Samothrace. I had seen pictures of it, of course, but for some reason it seemed far more beautiful up close, even more beautiful than Grace, Pippa, or Kate. I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me, and my entire body was humming and warm. Harry followed my gaze and smiled, tracing his palm in circles on my back. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

I could only nod. “I wish I could be more like that,” I breathed.

“More like what?” Harry asked.

Shaking my head and shrugging, I took a step towards the statue. “Brave.” She wasn’t perfect. She had curves and wide hips and far from six-pack abs. She was veiled only in a thin layer of fabric that was billowing in the fierce winds. Her wings were standing out behind her, ready to take her off at a moments notice. She didn’t care about being Foxy Roxy or saying “I love you.” She didn’t worry about what Madam had to say. She didn’t run from a guy because of his mommy issues. She confronted her fears, head on, strong, confident, and ready to face whatever came her way. For some reason, I felt my eyes start to get teary. I had certainly never been moved to tears by a piece of art before now.

Harry pressed his lips against my temple. “You’re plenty brave,” he assured me. Then, taking my hand, he told me to follow him. We went into a room to our right and were immediately swept up in a huge crowd of people. They were all standing around a painting that was about two feet by two feet. 

“That’s it?” I asked, a little let down by the Mona Lisa.

Chuckling, Harry nodded, “Yes, that’s it. Not impressed?”

With a shrug, I answered, “Eh.”

When we turned around to see Botticelli’s Last Supper, I looked around the crowd and realized that Harry had become as much of an attraction as the famous works of art we were observing. Ignoring this, I tilted my head to the side. “I don’t think it has the same effect on an atheist.”

“You were never raised with any religion?” he asked. “I thought Spanish people were all Catholic.”

“My abulea was,” I shrugged. “I went to church a few times with her and my dad, but I was never into it or anything. Dad was always very clear about science and evolution. When I was three I asked him why the trees were green and he asked me if I could say ‘photosynthesis’.”

Harry laughed. “Brilliant.”

We went back through the hall with Winged Nike and I took a picture, embarrassing Harry yet again. “Smile, lover,” I commanded before snapping a picture of Harry rolling his eyes and chuckling. It was absolutely adorable, and I remembered to show it to Bianca when I got back to play Isn’t My Boyfriend Cute.


	30. Iron & Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When we got back to the hotel from the Louvre, I was glad that Bianca and Pippa had talked me into packing something nice, just in case. I had no idea what to wear for the surprise Harry had planned for us, and he wasn’t being much help. “Should I dress up?” I asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, will I be over dressed?

“No. And you like getting all dressed up.”

I decided on an aqua blue dress with a sequined bodice and what Pippa told me was called a mullet skirt, although it was prettier than it sounded. Harry told me that I might want a jacket, so I pulled on a black faux-fur bolero and called it a day. It was definitely an improvement over what I would have worn without the help of my two fashion-literate friends.

When we got into the blacked-out car, Harry popped open a bottle of champagne. I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, almost in an exact mimic of the communication we'd exchanged before our tour of London. “It’s Paris,” he offered up by way of explanation and, I assumed, to excuse the fact that we were drinking in a car. I held out my flute for him to fill by way of approval. When he was done, he clinked our glasses together. “To your first trip to Paris. But not your last,” he winked at me.

We had been zipping through the Paris traffic for a few minutes when Harry pointed out the window. There was a monument of a flame sticking out of the ground. “That’s where it happened,” he murmured, and I knew exactly what he was talking about. Hiding my gasp, I turned to look at him. “You know, I think I’ll always wonder what went on in that tunnel.”

Struggling to find something to say back, I dumbly concluded, “I think that’s normal,” even though I had no idea.

Harry just pushed out a tight-lipped smile at me and went took another sip of champagne. Eventually, the car slowed down, and when we got out we were underneath the Eiffle Tower. It was lighting up so it looked like it was sparkling. “Oh my God…” I breathed out, looking directly up into the iron structure.

“Come on,” Harry held his hand out. He headed over to the ticket office and the woman behind the counter looked up.

“ _Bonjour_ , Your Royal Highness. We ‘ave been waiting for you.” Um…excuse me? I glared at the girl and, as she came around to the other side of the ticket booth to join us, tried to remind myself that she was just French and not actually trying to seduce my boyfriend. “Right this way,” she escorted us to an elevator.

When we were inside and she’d pressed the button that would take us straight to the top, Harry turned to me and, with a smirk, asked, “Or did you want to walk?”

“In these things?” I asked, pointing to my Steve Madden stilletos. “Yeah, right.” Actually, I could have been wearing Uggs and I _still_ wouldn’t have wanted to take the stairs all the way up the freaking Eiffle Tower.

When the elevator doors opened, a disembodied voice told us that we had reached the observation deck of the Eiffle Tower, like I somehow would have forgotten in the elevator. My ears had popped from the altitude, and Harry had been right to tell me to bring something else to keep me warm. With my hand in his, he led me out onto the observation deck. I was silent for several minutes. Literally all of Paris was right below our feet. I could spot the Arc de Triumph, the Musee d’Orsay, the gold dome under which Napoleon was buried. “Holy. Crap.” It wasn’t until I turned back to Harry that I realized that we were the only ones on top of the Eiffle Tower…which I didn’t think was a normal occurance. And there was classical music playing from somewhere… “What’s going on?” I asked.

Harry held his hand out again and I took it. He led me around to the other side of Paris and I was sure I was going to pass out. Maybe it was just how high up we were, but it was also because I didn’t have any other way to express what I was feeling. There was a tiny round table with a bouquet of daffodils in between, and two lit candles. Three men played music softly from a violin, a bass, and…I don’t know, something else. (They kind of reminded me of the band on the Titanic, but I wasn’t going to say that to Harry, seeing as how they'd met what could lightly be described as an unfortunate end.) “Harry…” I breathed out, turning to him. “What have you done?”

He gave me that mischevious smirk of his. “Do you like it?”

“Do I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, just threw myself at him. Laughing, he hugged me, picking me up off the floor a few inches. When he placed me back on the ground, I looked up at him. I could see his blue eyes searching my green ones. His mouth opened just a little and I braced myself for what was about to come. _He’s going to say it now_ , I thought. I was sure of it.

And then…Harry cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s eat.” If I was disappointed, it wasn't enough to take away from the fairy tale I was living in right now.

***

On our second morning in Paris, Harry and I woke up and went to a tiny café down the street for coffee and chocolate croissants. Paris, it turned out, was not good for the waistline. I _had_ thought that the “L” word was coming last night, but I supposed there was no rush. We had a whole other day and a half in Paris, and then three in Monaco – plenty of time for him to tell me he loved me. “Hey, can I have one of those?” I asked, pointing to Harry’s pack of Marlboro Lites. 

He frowned. “ _You_ want a cigarette?” When I nodded, he asked, “Why?”

Shrugging, I replied, “It just seems like I should be smoking in Paris. Everyone else is.”

With a chuckle, Harry passed the pack across the table to me. “Help yourself.” I took out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled. When I blew the smoke out, Harry shook his head. “God, that’s sexy.”

“It’s cancerous,” I reminded him.

“You say potato,” he shrugged, and I laughed. We were sipping lattes when Harry told me our agenda for the day. “So I thought we should see the Opera House, and then head out to Versailles, and then tonight we can check out the Champs Elysee.”

Beaming at him, I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

***

When Harry and I were standing in front of the Opera House, I got that feeling again – the one I’d gotten in front of Winged Victory and on top of the Eiffel Tower. “I still can’t believe I’m here,” I breathed out.

Harry squeezed my shoulders. “Just think – in three years, you could work here.”

“I could,” my eyes widened as I remembered that I could see this place every day in the future...as long as I didn't fuck up in school. If Madam was right and my committment was being called into question, there was no way Paris would give me an offer...or probably that anyone would give me an offer...  
Harry's eyes sparkled as he asked, “Do you want to go in?” I nodded and we headed through the doors. 

The Opera House was even more beautiful on the inside. The carpet was the color of rose petals. The walls looked like they were made out of solid gold. In the theatre, a gorgeous chandelier the size of a meteor sparkled above us. The tour guide told us about the history, the architecture, and the current ballet company. He took us back stage and led us to a narrow stone stairwell. It wasn’t well lit, and looked like it hadn’t been maintained since the Opera House had been built. Just to make sure we weren’t about to get hacked into bits with an axe, I asked, “Um, where are we going?”

As he led us down the staircase, the tour guide started telling us about Gaston LeRoux getting a tour – much like the one we were on now – at the turn of the century. I would have listened more, but now we were in a hallway…and it was more like a dungeon. The ceiling was so low that Harry had to hunch. Also, it smelled damp, like a shore house or something. “Where in the world,” I had started to wonder out loud, as the tour guide stepped in front of…a pond? In a building? Wait, that didn’t make any sense. Confused, I looked from Harry to the tour guide. “It was upon viewing these underground tunnels that Mr. LeRoux was inspired for his novel, The Phantom of the Opera.”

I blinked. “Wait a minute…that’s _real_?”

The tour guide, obviously amused, answered, “Well, there isn’t a masked phantom running around, but these tunnels are real, _oui_.”

“Cool! And also kind of creepy,” I added as an afterthought. 

Harry choked back a laugh and, as we were leaving, pointed out, “There’s nothing that the French love more than Americans calling their famous architecture ‘creepy.’”

I smirked as we got back into the car that would take us to Versailles. On the way, we passed the Flame of Liberty one more time and I sighed, biting down on my bottom lip. I hated thinking about that – about how Princess Diana had spent the last moments of her life scared and confused and clinging desperately to life, trying to hold on for her boys.

***

“Well. The French sure know how to build a palace,” I noted, getting out of the car and shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand. Versailles didn’t even _look_ real. Against the clear, blue sky the palace looked like an oil painting. It was _huge_ , and even that adjective was probably a gross understatement. So far French palaces were _way_ bigger than English ones, and they didn’t even have a monarchy anymore! What a waste!

Harry and I toured the palace grounds first. There was, after all, a lot to see. We rented bikes and cycled around the lake. Laughing, we raced to the finish, going far too fast to be recognized. By the time we were done, my hair was a mess and our faces were red and wind-blown. We got ice cream and went around to the back of the palace, where Marie Antoinette had built a peasant village. “Why?” I asked Harry.

Shrugging, he explained, “I suppose she thought it would be fun to pretend she was poor for a day or two.”

Blinking, I asked, “Um…what?”

Harry chuckled. “You can see why she wasn’t very popular.” I told him I could. “It would be like William and I pretending to live on the streets, just for fun.” William had once spent a night on the street, but it was for charity, not as a pastime he enjoyed.

“Well beheading still seems like a harsh punishment,” I compromised, reaching out to feed a goat in a pen.

“Can you think of someone who _does_ deserve to have their head cut off?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have objected to seeing Hitler’s head roll. Or Osama Bin Laden.”

“Ah, well, when they catch Osama I’m sure they’ll send him straight to the guillotine.”

“You know, for somebody who wasn’t good at school, you’re pretty smart,” I noted, ruffling his hair.

Harry took my hand in his. “How do you know how I did in school?”

Embarrassed, I asked, “Remember those books I read about your mom?” When Harry told me that he did, I explained, “Well there was a lot about you in there, too.” There was a ton on his relationship with his ex-girlfriend, Chelsy Davey. I’d skipped those parts.

*** 

Inside Versailles, of course, was where the real party started. I wasn’t sure how, but the furniture and rooms had been wonderfully maintained. It looked like Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had just been there. Inside one room was a ceiling so beautifully painted, it was probably second only to the Sistine Chapel. The tour guide told us, and the rest of the group (who were half listening and half staring at Harry, so I was glad that the guide had taken cell phones before we'd started) that the man who had painted the ceiling had been so exhausted afterwards that he’d killed himself – to sleep forever after a lifetime of work. He was quick to follow it up with a not-so-tragic anecdote about how another guest at Versailles had died after Louis refused to let him get up from the table to relieve himself. “Ew!” I squirmed, although, after my "creepy" comment, it probably shouldn't have come out of my mouth.

Harry laughed and draped an arm around my shoulder. The group and I continued on into the Hall of Mirrors, which I’d heard about, and read about, but to actually see it…“You could do some good practicing in here, couldn’t you?” Harry murmured in my ear. Mirrors were essential to any dancer, but ballerinas especially. 

The tour guide told us about when Louis would walk through, and courtiers would ask for invitations to the next party. The group filtered out eventually but Harry and I stayed, because I wasn’t done staring and looking around the room like an idiot. Eventually, my eyes settled on our reflection in one of the long mirrors. It was proof that I was actually here, in Versailles, with Harry. Turning to him, I couldn’t contain my smile. Harry grinned back at me before wrapping on arm around my waist and taking my hand. He pressed his cheek gently against mine. His breath tickled my neck. _Now_ , I thought, closing my eyes. _Say it now._

Before anyone said anything, however, Harry walked us forward with one foot. I pulled back and looked up at him curiously. He kept waltzing us around the wide hall. In my ear he started murmuring the lyrics to the song we were apparently dancing to. “Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You had a busy day today.” My eyes were filling with tears, but I didn’t know why. Goosebumps spread up my arms and my spine tingled. Even without “I love you,” it was a perfect day.


	31. Secrets Travel Fast in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry and I returned to Paris proper and were doing what you’re supposed to do there – watch. All of the cafes had chairs on the sidewalk turned out to face the street so you could people-watch. We got more lattes and pastries, I thought about the epic reprimand I’d get from Madam for the slight weight gain, and sat down at a little table to participate in Paris’s favorite pastime. I bummed another cigarette from Harry and we just sat, watching at the café, remaining completely undisturbed. With a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses on, no one recognized Harry, or if they did, they didn’t care. Parisians were too cool to make a fuss. Plus, he looked really cute. Like a tourist, I snapped pictures every chance I got, even a cute one of Harry and I sharing a kiss. I had an annoying habit of, when I was really happy, humming the waltz from _Sleeping Beauty_ , and was doing this as Harry and I strolled back to the hotel hand in hand. When we walked past a street vendor, however, the humming stopped. Harry paused, following my gaze.

With shaking hands, I reached out for a magazine, _Closer_ , on the newsstand. It was only a story in the corner of the cover, and the picture was split down the middle. One side was me, an official picture from the RBA that was public information, and that had circulated after I’d first stepped out with Harry. The other half, however, was a picture of me as a little kid. I was wearing a pink leotard, my black hair in French braided pigtails. My dad was holding me. “Fox. Don’t,” Harry warned.

“What does it say?” I asked, completely unable to reach French, even after four years of it in high school.

“Fox, I can’t read that, I only know a few phrases…”

“Well try.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry stared down at the headline. He mumbled to himself as he translated. “It looks like…something about new information on Roxy’s mysterious father,” he read aloud. Harry looked back to me and finally plucked the magazine from my hands. “Roxy, don’t read this.”

_Why not?_ I wanted to ask. Everyone else in the world was reading it, and I’d be damned if they were all going to know more about my own father than I did. I was about to say this to Harry when my phone rang. My hands were still shaking when I picked up the call from William. He didn’t wait for me to even say “hello.” “Roxanna. It’s William.”

“I know,” I rasped out.

He sighed. “So you’ve seen it.” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “It’s the damn French. I’ve spoken with Fleet Street, and they’re not going to publish here, but I think…I think the story has already broken in America. And I’m afraid it’s quite big news.”

Of course it was bigger news in the States – I was American, after all. The fact that the pictures hadn’t been printed in the UK didn’t matter at all, not in the age of the internet. “How did they find him?” I murmured to William.

“I don’t know. I’m so sorry, Roxanna.” I couldn’t respond, so William cleared his throat. “Keep us updated, won’t you?”

“Sure,” I nodded before we hung up. Turning back to Harry, I took in a shaky breath. “We have to go back to the hotel.”

“All right,” he agreed, and then took my hand to lead me there.

When we were back in the room, I reached for my laptop. Harry snatched it away and held it to his chest. “Roxy, don’t read it. It’s…it’s rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish,” I argued. 

“But what difference will it make?” he asked. “It won’t change what happened, or how you feel. They print new ‘secrets’ about Mum all the time, and they’re all just rubbish. It will only upset you.”

“So I’m just supposed to let the whole world know about my dad? Know more about him than I do?” Holding my hand out, I instructed, “Give me the computer.”

With a sigh, Harry reluctantly handed it over. I was opening the web browser when Harry picked up his phone. “Who are you calling?” I asked.

“Your mother. And then I’m going to call Grace. I have to apologize for all of this.” I opened my mouth to tell Harry that it wasn’t his fault, but he stopped me. “And don’t say it’s not my fault. Because we both know that it is.”

“It’s not,” I corrected him. Hoping he’d believe me, I planted a kiss on his mouth. The truth was that in that moment, I _did_ resent him, just a little.

***

It had gotten dark outside by the time I’d read all of what the internet had to offer with regards to my father. It that was a surprisingly thorough amount of information. Santiago DeLaSearle had moved to Dallas, Texas. He’d continued his groundbreaking research, going all over the world with grants and on conferences. He’d been published in countless scientific journals, taken an adjunct professorship at UT Austin. And the real heartbreaker weas that at some point he’d gotten remarried, and had two children. Girls. 

It took me several minutes to realize that I hadn’t been stabbed in the heart. Grace had called me three times. On the fourth, Harry finally picked up. “Hi, it’s me. How are you?” He waited for Grace to respond and then looked at me. “She’s…I’m not sure.” Holding the phone away from his mouth, he asked, “Do you want to talk to your sister?”

I didn’t, but knew that I had to. “Grace.”

“Roxy. How are you, baby?” I could tell that she’d been crying. It had been years since I’d actually seen Grace cry, but I could still tell from her raspy voice and her stuffy nose. And she hadn’t called me “baby” since before I’d gone through puberty. Back then it had mostly been an insult. "Stop being such a baby, Roxy. Grow up." Now, however, I understood that she meant it more gently. 

Feeling a wave of affection towards my big sister, I sniffled. “I’m okay.”

“Roxy…this is the second time this has happened to you,” she pointed out. I didn’t see where she was going with this, so I was stayed silent. “We never would have found any of this out. I mean I’d rather not know any of it.” I agreed with her, but remained quiet. “Are you sure…are you sure that this is what you want?”

With a sideways glance at Harry, I cleared my throat. This wasn't a question that was possible for me to answer right now - if Harry was worth going through the pain that moments like Foxy Roxy, and moments like this caused. I didn't want to ask it myself, and I didn't want to think about the cold, hard truth which was that, eventually, I'd have to. “Grace, I’ll call you back.”

“Okay. I love you, Rock.”  
“I love you, too, Gake,” we used our childhood nicknames for each other and hung up.

Harry waited for me to talk. When I didn’t, he took my hand. “Roxy. Please say something.”

My lips trembled as I got out through my tear-clogged throat, “He has a new family. He married some woman in Texas. They have two daughters.” Harry gave me a sympathetic expression and rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb. “This whole time,” I choked out, “I’ve been thinking that he didn’t want a family. And that’s why he left. But it wasn’t that. He just didn’t want us.” By now, I was crying so much that I wondered how I was getting the words out.

“Fox, darling, you can’t think that way. People are complicated. It’s never that simple,” Harry tried to convince me.

“Then why?” I asked. “Why did he leave us? What’s wrong with me?”

Taking my face in his hands, Harry looked me in the eye. “ _Nothing._ Listen to me Roxy: there is _nothing_ wrong with you. You are talented and beautiful and kind and smart," he insisted before repeating, "There is _nothing_ wrong with you.” With that, he pulled me into him. That’s how we spent our last night in Paris – with Harry holding me while I cried.

***

When I woke up I could tell that it was way too early. The sky outside was still grey and Harry was snoozing beside me. I contemplated going back to sleep but knew that this was my one chance to get to do the thing I wanted to do without him. As quietly as I could, I got out of bed and got dressed. I kept my eye on Harry, making sure he didn't wake up while I pulled on a pair of over-washed and faded jeans, a t-shirt and a grey RBA hoodie, and one of Harry's hats. Grabbing my purse, I shut the door behind me with a soft click.

“Miss DeLaSearle, can we 'elp you this morning?” the concierge asked. With all of the French accents, every time someone addressed me as Miss DeLaSearle, I jumped, thinking it was Madam or Monsieur scolding me.

I gave the concierge a polite smile. “Yes, actually. I was wondering…would it be possible for me to get a taxi?” I preferred to keep the destination a secret and was hoping by my anonymous clothing and the time of day I wouldn't be recognized.

“Of course, miss. Just this way,” he instructed, leading me towards the revolving door at the front of the hotel. Once we were outside (you couldn’t tell from the Paris traffic that it was so early in the morning) the concierge flagged down a taxi. They spoke in French that I didn’t understand until the concierge glanced my way.

Figuring that this was the part where the cab driver needed to know where to take me, I got into the back seat. Once I’d shut the door, I leaned forward. “To the flame of liberty, _s’il vous plait_.”

“ _Oui, madam_ ,” the driver nodded, and screeched away from the curb.

The flame wasn’t far, and since there was no real place to view it, the cab driver had no problem stopping in the middle of the traffic, almost causing me a (darkly ironic) death. I got out, asking the driver to keep the meter running, which took a lot of gestures and pointing. When I walked up to the flame, I saw that people still left little offerings; bouquets of flowers scattered around, along with candles that had burned out during the night, and framed pictures of the Princess of Wales. I looked around to make sure that there were no paparazzi anywhere before getting down on my knees, placing my hand against the flame, and reciting the Hail Mary in perfect Spanish, just as my father had taught me. “ _Dois te salve, Maria._  
“ _Llena eres de gracia:_  
“ _El Senor es contigo._  
“ _Bendita tu eres entre todas los mujeres._  
“ _Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre:_  
“ _Jesus_.” Pausing, I took another look around to make sure that I was still the only one there. A block away, two young girls were entering a café. One of them pointed to me, and they both looked. I made sure they didn’t bring out a camera phone before continuing. “ _Santa Maria, Madre de dios,_  
“ _ruega por nosotros pecadores,_  
“ _ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte._  
“Amen.” And then I quickly crossed myself before continuing. “ _Padre nuestro,_  
“ _que estas en el cielo,_  
“ _santificado sea tu nombre_.” 

***

It was still early when I got back to the hotel, and Harry was thankfully still asleep. I placed the bag of chocolate croissants I’d bought on the way back on the table in our room and slipped back into bed next to him. He stirred just a little and took in a deep breath before wrapping me closely into him. “Where’d you go?”

“I ran out to get some of those chocolate croissants you like.”  
Harry smiled and kissed me on the forehead by way of a thank you and went back to sleep. I snuggled up to him, breathing him in. I loved Harry in the morning. He’d fallen asleep on his side, one arm up outstretched under his head. In the morning, he always seemed so soft. His skin smelled like linen and felt like velvet. He was warm and delicious. I kissed his chest, tasting Harry in the morning, and tangled my legs with his. It wasn’t long before my breathing matched his, and I fell back to sleep next to him.


	32. I've Had The Time Of My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I was glad that we were going to Monaco after the press reports on my dad. Three days of sun and sand sounded delightful to me. I wanted nothing more than to recline in a beach chair, sip a pina colada, and read a trashy romance novel. “Danielle Steele may have to wait,” Harry told me in the helicopter.

“What? Why?”

“I made a deal with the press,” he admitted, and I knew this pained him. “I told them we would take some pictures with Albert and Charlene if they’d leave us alone on vacation.” 

“So…do I have to be there, too?” I asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not if you don’t want to.” I blew out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t brought anything I’d want to wear in a photo call with the offspring of Grace Kelly. “It’ll be quick, just a few pictures in the Prince’s Palace when we get off the plane,” he assured me.

“Thanks for that,” I gave him a kiss of gratitude. “I’d be horrified if there were pictures of my thunder thighs in _The Mirror_.”

“You haven’t got thunder thighs, so that would be quite a feat,” Harry smirked. He then told me that Albert, the Prince of Monaco, would meet us when we got off the helicopter, with his fiancé, Charlene. Albert’s sister, Caroline, and her daughter, Charlotte, would also be joining us.

“Why?” I asked, suspicious of any young royal who wanted a photo in the press with my boyfriend.

“She’s friends with Bea and Eugenie. I think she wants to meet you,” he shrugged. “The Yorks do, too, by the way, but I’ve told them they have to wait for the wedding. I figured you’d feel better that way.”

My heart warmed and I gave him another kiss. “You read my mind.” I would rather get meeting the Firm over with in one fell swoop.

My relief, however, was short lived. We got out of the helicopter and Harry introduced me to Prince Albert II, the son of Grace Kelly, and Charlene. If Barbie ever came to life, she would have turned into Charlene. “I’m a huge fan of your mother’s work,” I told Prince Albert. I’d actually only ever seen one Grace Kelly movie in my life, _Rear Window_ , but I’d liked it. Besides, who cared about the quality of the acting, or the plot of the movie, when someone so beautiful was in it?

As promised, Harry, Albert, and Charlene went out to the front steps of the palace to do the photo call. I was safe behind the thick doors when I heard, “ _Pardon_ , Roxy?” The girl pronounced my name like rock-SEE, but I hardly noticed because she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen up close. I hadn’t answered her, distracted by the fact that I was suddenly now questioning my sexuality, and the girl asked again. “Rock-SEE?”

“Huh? Oh, um, yes, that’s me.” First of all, she was about eight feet tall. Okay, not really, that would have been weird. But she was probably just a _bit_ shorter than Kate. She had a perfect button nose and perfectly plump lips that a forty-year-old Real Housewife would die for. To top it all off, she had long flowing waves the color of wheat, and an apparent all-year-around tan. 

“ _Bonjour_!” the beautiful girl greeted me with a peck on both cheeks. I think I actually blushed. “I am Charlotte!”

Prince Albert’s niece. “Oh, Beatrice and Eugenie’s friend,” I remembered.

“ _Oui_!” Charlotte confirmed, excitedly taking my hands in both of hers. “I ‘ave been wanting to meet you for zo long! But ‘arry inseests zat ze familee wait.” She was beautiful, she spoke like Fleur Delacore (a character in Harry Potter who more or less enchated people with her beauty), she was royal, and she was apparently on a first-name basis with my boyfriend. Oddly enough, none of this bothered me. If Harry wanted to leave me for Charlotte, I would actually have completely understood. “I sought I would meet you wis Beatrice and Eugenie, but zen my uncle told me you were coming to Monaco, and I just ‘ad to meet you.”

“Oh. Well…okay. Hi,” I introduced myself stupidly. “I’m Roxy.”

Charlotte giggled charmingly. “I know zat seelee! I ‘ave seen you in all ze magazines!”

Grimacing, I admitted, “The paparazzi don’t always get my best side.”

She giggled again and waved her hand. “Reedeeculous! You are gorgeous. Come, meet my mama.” Before I could protest, Charlotte had taken my hand and was leading me through the palace. The weather in Monaco was beautiful – not too hot, and a slight, dry breeze. The palace was clearly made for warm weather, with lots of white marble. When we reached the kitchen, Charlotte plucked a glass of lemonade off of a silver platter that a member of the household staff was holding out. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a blazer. Even the maids in France were fashionable. “ _Limonade_?” Charlotte offered me.

“ _Merci_ ,” I gave the employee a kind smile as I took the lemonade. She didn’t smile back.

“Mama!” Charlotte called, bursting into a room with light blue walls and sunlight pouring in through huge windows. A woman as equally elegant as Charlotte was dozing on a white chaise longue. The furniture of this palace was every bit as expensive, extravagant and plush as the furniture in KP, but it was more modern. The woman on the chaise was wearing a white cover-up over a brown bathing suit, a wide-rimmed hat, and gladiator sandals. They were certainly more relaxed in Monaco. “Mama! Zis is rock-SEE, ‘arry’s girlfriend.”

Princess Caroline sat up and blinked from Charlotte to me. Quickly, she spoke to Charlotte in French. I didn’t know what she was saying, but from her tone and Charlotte’s reaction, I could tell that it wasn’t great. Charlotte said something back and Princess Caroline rolled her eyes and waved her hand. Turning to me, Charlotte explained, “Mama doesn’t want me to bozzair you.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” I assured them.

“I told you,” Charlotte stuck her tongue out at her mother.

Princess Caroline patted the chaise next to her and Charlotte sat. I took the chair across from them. “Zis is your first time in Monaco?” Princess Caroline asked.

“This is my first time somewhere that isn’t the United States or England,” I explained.

Princess Caroline looked surprised, undoubtedly shocked that Prince Harry was dating an uncultured American commoner. “Oh? And ‘ow are you liking France?”

With a nervous laugh, I answered, “I feel like I learned more here in three days than I have in my entire life.”

“Yes, France ‘as zat effect on people,” Princess Caroline offered me a kind smile. “You must forgive Charlotte’s excitement. She ‘as been friends wis ‘arry and ze York seesters for ages. And…we were not fond of ‘is last girlfriend.”

Charlotte nudged her mother with her elbow and they muttered at each other in French. Finally, Princess Caroline said, “Not to worry. ‘Arry doesn’t ask our opinion. Ze last girl, she was…hm…” Princess Caroline paused, searching for the word. “She was too wild. Charlotte went through a phase, as you Americans say, but she grew up. Zere is nussing I detest more zan children wis too much of zeir parents money and no ambeetion.” With that bold and succinct assessment, Princess Caroline lit a cigarette.

Well…that seemed a bit harsh. I didn’t know Chelsy at all, but she wasn’t getting any good reviews here.

“Zo tell me, rock-SEE. Charlotte says you are a ballerina?” Princess Caroline changed the subject. 

“ _Oui_ ,” I nodded. “I dance at the Royal Ballet Academy.”

“Did you not get an offer from ze Opera ‘ouse?” she asked with a frown.

“I did, but my French isn’t very good,” I blushed.

Princess Caroline chuckled. Before she could as me anything else, Charlotte asked, “Are you going to ze wedding, rock-SEE?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I just picked out my outfits.”

Charlotte clapped her hands together. “Eet is so exziting, no? Caterine ees so beautiful.”

“She is,” I agreed, although Charlotte calling someone else beautiful made me blink.

“You are beautiful, too! Ze Wales princes always get such preety girls!”

My blush deepened. “Oh, no, I just got off the helicopter…”

“Fox?” I heard Harry’s voice calling through the palace.

“We are een ‘ere, ‘arry!” Charlotte called out.

Moments later, we were joined in the sun-lit room by Harry, Prince Albert, and Charlene. “’As Charlotte been asking you questions?” Charlene smirked. “She ‘as been waiting to meet you all week.”

“Zees one is so much better!” Charlotte enthusiastically told Harry.

Harry wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders. “She’s all right,” he joked, kissing my temple. “We’re done that photo call. Do you want to go?”

I thought Harry was trying to get us out before the Monaco royals went on an anti-Chelsy tirade. Also fearing this, I agreed that we should get going. When I stood and said good-bye, Charlotte leapt up to give me another hug and kiss on both sides of my face. “I’ll see you at ze wedding! Beatrice and Eugenie weel be so angry zat I met you before zem!”

“See you at the wedding,” I waved to them all. When Harry and I were in the car headed towards our resort, I gave him a shocked look.

“What?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you dating _her_?”   
“ _Charlotte_?”

“Uh, yeah, Charlotte.”

“Why would I date Charlotte?”

“Have you _seen_ her?”

“Have you _heard_ her? I can barely understand her half the time.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. Besides, I can barely understand you half the time,” I pointed out.  
“Then I guess I’m lucky that I have such a pretty face,” Harry grinned, planting a kiss on my mouth. But when he pulled away, all I could think about was how better suited someone like Charlotte would be for him. 

***

“Have I died and gone to Heaven?” I asked. Harry and I were laid out under the sun. It wasn’t too hot – just warm enough to feel my skin baking. The breeze blew off the ocean. The waves rolled in and then out in a calming rhythm. The strawberry daiquiri in my hand tasted like the food of the gods.

“Maybe,” Harry considered the possibility, "but if you have, so have I, so it’s fine.”

Laughing, I placed my daiquiri in the cup-holder of my beach chair and stood up. “I’m gonna test the water. Wanna come?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. Hand-in-hand, we strolled to the shoreline. The clear blue water – the same color as Harry’s eyes – tickled my toes. It wasn’t even cold. We waded in and, suddenly, when I was up to my ankles, Harry lifted me up like we were crossing the threshold. I screamed and kicked, afraid that I was about to go plunging into the sea. Harry carried me until he was up to his waist. “Are you ready?”

“No! Don’t!” I begged.

“One,” Harry counted off, swinging me from side to side like I was weightless. “Two…”

“Harry Wales! Do not throw me!”

The last word was barely out of my mouth when Harry shouted, “Three!” and tossed me into the ocean.

The water wasn’t cold, but it was still shocking to be under it. I came up, sputtering and spitting salt water out of my mouth. “You are _dead_ , Wales!” I threatened, coming at him.

Harry caught me around my waist and assaulted me with kisses. Laughing, I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. Finally, I hoooked my leg around his and thrust all of my weight against him. Surprised, Harry let out a shout as we went tumbling backwards. When we stood back up, he splashed me lightly. “Nice one, DeLaSearle.”

“Thanks.” Before I could stop him, he’d picked me up again, just in a bear hug this time. “Ooh, Captain Wales, you’re so strong and dreamy,” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Well that’s true. I am the strongest man alive.” He actually looked a little offended when I laughed.

“Since you’re so strong, wanna lift me?” Every once in a while, I got the spontaneous urge to dance. If Harry was the only person around, I made him lift me. Even Wills had tried once, but he had as much coordination and grace as a giraffe and I’d almost plummeted to the floor.

“Which one? Fish dive? Blue bird?” Harry was getting pretty well versed in the _pas de deux_ lingo.

“We call this one the Johnny Castle,” I informed him, taking a few steps backwards.

“The what?” he asked.

“You know! Johnny Castle! Patrick Swayze’s character in _Dirty Dancing_.”

“Roxy, I don’t know if I can do that,” Harry admitted, and I didn’t think to question how he knew what I was talking about. Everyone had seen _Dirty Dancing_ , even a prince.

I put my fists on my hips. “I thought you were the strongest man alive.”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

“Oh come on, just give it a try.” Just like Johnny and Baby, we did not get it on the first try…or the second. It was the eighth attempt by the time I rushed at Harry and he was able to lift me straight up over his head. We could have held it, but I was too excited that we’d gotten it right and started to scream with delight. Harry dropped me behind him and, when I came back up, I wrapped my arms around him and gave him salty kisses. “My hero!”

Someone at the resort had snapped a picture of the lift and the resulting kiss. It was in the celebrity sighting section of _Hello!_ the next week, but for a change, I didn’t care. There was nothing scandalous about the photo, no accompanying rumor serving as a headline. It was just a picture of me on vacation with my boyfriend, happy and in love. It didn’t matter that we hadn’t spoken the actual words – the picture said it all.

***

On Sunday, we took an Air France flight back to Heathrow. Since the _Dirty Dancing_ lift, I’d gotten less and less disappointed about the absence of the “L” word in France. So when I started to cry on the plane, it wasn’t out of disappointment. I tried to do it as subtly and as quietly as I could, but Harry eventually did a double take. “Fox? Are you crying?”

“No,” I lied with a sniffle.

Chuckling, Harry brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong, darling?”

At the term of endearment, my heart melted and I got even more sad. Through my tears and gasps for breath, I explained, “The last time – we were on a vacation – everything – turned shitty – afterwards.”

“Well, that’s true, but that was ages ago, and it was over something silly. As long as you don’t do that again, we’ll be fine.”

“But what if – I do something – stupid – again?”

“If you do, I won’t let you. I’ll stand outside your door with a boom box playing Peter Gabriel until you come out,” he promised. “It’ll be fine, Fox. It’ll be fine.” Wrapping me into him, Harry placed his lips against my temple. “We’re going to the wedding on Friday, and we’ll have an amazing weekend. Then you’ll do spring shop, and then you’ll have summer break, and we can go to Necker," he suggested Richard Branson's private island, "and have another fantastic vacation. Maybe we can go back to the States, visit your mum and Grace. Then before you know it, it’ll be your birthday in August and Kate and I will throw you the biggest party you’ve ever been to.”

I wasn’t sure how many of the things could realistically happen in the given time frame, and the fact that spring workshop was coming up soon should have stressed me out. But hearing about how awesome the next couple of months were going to be according to Harry calmed me down. I dozed off for the rest of the short flight.

When the plane landed at Heathrow, I felt my heart tug. It was like the Sunday blues only at least ten times worse. Paolo brought our bags to the car before we left the airport and walked into the flashing lights of the paparazzi. The car dropped me off in Covent Garden, and I turned to Harry before I got out. “I’m afraid that I’m not going to be able to see you this week.”

“That’s okay,” I waved a hand. “I know you’ll be busy.”

Harry placed both palms on the sides of my face. “I’ll _miss_ you.”

With a sigh, I admitted, “I’ll miss you, too.”

He gave me a sweet kiss. “I’ll see you on Friday for the wedding of the century.”

Excited about Will and Kate’s wedding, I giggled and gave him another kiss. When I pulled away, I almost said it. Just because it was true. Just because it would have been easy. _Wait_ , a voice in the back of my mind told me. _Wait, and it will be worth it._ And with that, I got out of the car and went back to reality.

***

I was humming the _Sleeping Beauty_ waltz when I got back into the room. Bianca looked up from where she was unpacking on her bed. “I got a week with Mum and Paul and you got a romantic French vacation. Something about this is horribly unfair.”

I hugged her and heaved my own suitcase onto my bed. “How was your break?”

“Dreadfully boring. How was yours?” she asked. Probably prompted by my humming, she followed up with, “Are you a fool in love?”

With a shrug I opened my suitcase. “Not really. I mean, we didn’t say it or anything.”

“ _What_?” Bianca asked, obviously disappointed. “A whole week in France and not one, ‘I love you?’”

“Well, not in words anyway.” Before she could ask what I meant, I offered, “I met Charlotte Casiraghi.”

“Did you make out with her?”

“No, but it was close,” I admitted, not even convinced that I was completely joking. “You should see her, B. She’s just _beautiful_. It’s almost impossible.” I was tossing a sweater into the laundry basket when I carefully asked, “Don’t you think…I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense for Harry to be with someone like that, than someone like me?”

“Yup.”

Bianca’s quick agreement made mw whip around to face her. “Huh?”

“I’m agreeing with you. Why wouldn’t Harry be with someone gorgeous, rich, and royal?” Before I could react, she continued. “But what difference does it make? He’s with you.”

“Well maybe he shouldn’t be.”

“Why?”

“Because…because I’m from New Jersey!”

“Roxy – “

“Wallis Simpson was from Baltimore.”

“This isn’t 1936.”

“Well maybe they were onto something.”

“They were then. She had no problem meeting with Hitler. You, I imagine, would not be as open to that. Besides, if you leave now, the Rottweiler wins.”

“Hmph. Well, I _would_ hate that,” I admitted.

With a snicker, Bianca tossed a green plastic bottle at me. “It’s an exfoliating mask. You’ve got a week to be the hottest Roxy you can be. Get to it.”


	33. Advice from the Duchess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

On Thursday, the 28th, after conditioning, Madam reminded us that there would be no classes tomorrow. “I think we all know why,” she added, and the rest of the girls in class giggled at me. Somehow it had gotten around the rumor mill in school that I was attending the wedding. Bianca swore up, down, and sideways that it wasn’t her (“I don’t even talk to them, Roxy! You’ve made us social pariahs, remember?”) so I assumed someone from the palace had leaked it. When we got out of afternoon workshop, Bianca steamed my dresses before zipping them into thick black bags and hanging them on the back of the door. Muttering to herself, she stacked the L.K. Bennet and Jimmy Choo boxes on top of each other. “Where’s your fascinator?” she asked, rummaging through my drawers.

“Bianca, I’ve got it,” I assured her.

She produced a pair of nude pantyhose I’d be wearing in the morning. “Of course you do,” she half-heartedly agreed with me.

“Bianca, really, I do,” I repeated, taking my fascinator box from its place on the closet shelf.

The truth was that it meant something to me to be able to pull this thing off by myself. I had been relying on Bianca, Kate, Pippa, and Carole to dress me since I’d gotten here. I wanted to handle my dresses for the wedding, and my hair and makeup on my own. The girls had helped me pick the dress out, but I just wanted to be able to get myself from Point A to Point B without second guessing everything and asking a million times if I looked okay.

“Miss DeLaSearle, your driver is here,” the receptionist buzzed up to us.

“Thanks, I’ll be right down,” I told her before turning around to do a last inventory of my belongings. I had regular clothes for the weekend in my Vera Bradley bag, both of my dresses, both pairs of shoes, my fascinator, and enough make up to make the Elephant Man look good. “Okay, I think I have everything.”

Bianca gave me a kiss on both sides of my face. “Have fun. I love you. Text me every single second.”

“I love you, too, B,” I smiled at her before leaving and making for the car.

“Don’t worry! Everything will be fine! Don’t drink too much and embarrass yourself!” she called after me. I smiled and shook my head. Just a few months ago she’d called almost the same thing down the hallway when I was about to go on my tour with Harry. How things had changed…

*** 

Kate wasn’t at the hotel yet when I got there. She, Carole, and Pippa were all doing a brief photo op when they arrived. The crowd that had amassed was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I knew that people were excited, but the sheer amount was just absurd. They were deafening when I got out of my car. Through the general shouts I heard a paparazzo ask, “Roxy! Roxy, do you know anything about the dress?” as if I was ready to offer up the details, right then and there. I waved, feeling a bit silly, before the driver and I made our way inside with all of my clothes.

“Miss DeLaSearle,” a concierge immediately flew in next to me. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Here is a pamphlet of all of our hotel’s services,” he said, handing me a black folder full of information. I was wondering why he was giving it to me for a minute before I followed his line of thinking. If I was the next royal bride, the hotel owners wanted more exposure for the Goring. 

“Uh, thanks,” I tried to smile at him instead of looking terrified at the prospect of being in Kate’s shoes…ever.

“You’ll be staying in one of our suites, right below Miss Middleton. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you.” 

My driver got into the elevator with me and I took the gold key cards out of the cardboard pocket from the concierge. “Pretty nice,” I flashed the card at the driver. He gave me a tight-lipped smile and I longed for Paolo.

Once the driver had gone, presumably to fetch more guests, I flopped down on the bed and clicked the TV on. It seemed like every other station was covering Royal Wedding stuff, with several cameras showing the outside of the hotel I was in at the moment. One channel was showing _Coupling_ re-runs so I settled on that and tried to quiet my mind and focus on Patrick and Sally.

It wasn’t long, however, before I realized that I was in my own small room in a huge hotel full of people I didn’t know from Adam. Chewing on my lip, I debated whether or not I should call Harry and decided against it. He was probably super busy. I tried calling my mom, but she didn’t pick up. Finally, as a last resort, I dialed Grace.

“Hey Rock, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m just bored,” I confessed.

Grace paused. “Well uh…where are you?”

“…At the Goring Hotel,” I admitted reluctantly.

“I _knew_ it!” she declared victoriously. “I _knew_ you were going! I’m watching it right now. I can’t believe you’re in there!”

“Grace, aren’t you at work?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m in the break room.” I didn’t say anything and Grace let out an offended huff. “What? It’s not like there are brain surgeries every minute of the day.” Before I could respond, she exclaimed, “Oh! Oh! Kate just got there!”

Outside, there was a huge cheer and I smiled. “Yeah, I can hear it.”

“So are you meeting everyone tomorrow? Oh, look at her hair!”

“I can’t, Grace, I’m inside.”

“Oh, well, it looks fabulous. Anyway, are you meeting the Queen tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and the rest of the Firm,” I told her.

“Mhm. And?”

“What do you mean, and?” Sometimes, when Grace and I spoke, it sounded almost like a foreign language. We talked fast and sometimes didn’t finish our sentences because we knew what we were talking about. No matter how different we were, there were some elements of a sibling bond that I guessed just couldn’t be broken.

“That sounds pretty intimidating,” she pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to do it. Speaking of which, how are you handling this situation with Dad?”

“I’m not,” I shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Actually, there is. You could file with the PCC.”

“I can’t file with the PCC. The story wasn’t printed in London and it wasn’t an invasion of my privacy,” I corrected her.

“Well it was an invasion of someone’s privacy,” she struggled to put her finger on it.

“It was an invasion of Dad’s privacy, and he’s not a citizen of the U.K., and he’s not a minor. So there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well there’s something you can do about the Foxy Roxy thing!”

“Why would I do that?” I asked. “The pictures were already printed. What difference would it make?”

Grace was silent. “All right, fine. Look, I know that it’s exciting and everything – dating a prince, riding around on the white horse, going to the royal wedding.”

“I haven’t actually ridden the white horse,” I pointed out. Although, Harry did have one. His name was Ramsey, and he was a polo horse. Harry had three different horses for polo. They were all adorable. 

“You know what I mean, Rock. Is all this worth it?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” I told her, although I had just been questioning this in Paris. My stubborn side, however, was not going to let Grace know that I’d been considering this. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t still be in this relationship.” Actually, now that I thought about it, who was Grace to lecture me right now? She knew nothing about our relationship, she knew nothing about Harry, and she knew next to nothing about me. “I really don’t think you’re the authority on this,” I finally told her.

Grace, obviously offended, snapped back, “Fine, have fun with your prince. I’ll just wait around for the next story about pictures of you in your underwear.”

“Good, do.”

“I will.” With that, she hung up.

Feeling guilty, I chewed on my bottom lip and waited around for a while, feeling anxious. Finally, I decided to reach into my Very Bradley bag for a Xanax. I slept for the next several hours.

*** 

Unfortunately, due to my Xanax-induced slumber, I woke up at three in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. Picking my head up off the pillow, I checked the clock. The red letters glared at me that it was 3:45. Rolling over onto my back, I tried to run through how the day would go. Bianca had made sure I had a makeup artist and someone coming to do my hair in the morning, but they wouldn’t be here until seven…and I didn’t have to leave the Goring until 10:15 (because yes, apparently it was going to take over two hours to make me look presentable). _Then you’ll just go to the wedding and meet the Queen_ , I thought, and hugged one of the extra pillows closer to my chest. 

I picked up my phone and was about to hit the speed dial number for Harry, but then thought against it. For one, it was 3:45 in the morning. Also, he was probably dealing with other people’s neuroses; he didn’t need to add mine on top of those. Instead, I resolved to call Piers, who was staying at Clarence House with Will’s friends. “Wha…Roxy? What’s wrong?” he answered, obviously having been woken up by my call.

“Nothing,” I assured him. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you calling me for?” he asked. I paused for so long that Piers muttered, “She better not have called me at four in the bloody morning to hang up on me.”

"I’m here,” I told him. “I’m just…I’m kind of nervous about tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the one getting married in front of millions of people?” he asked, always dry and sarcastic in any and all situations.

“ _No_ , but I _am_ the one meeting the Queen for the first time,” I reminded him.

“I’ve met her loads of times, she’s perfectly nice,” he brushed me off, and I could hear him light a cigarette on the other end of the line.

“I’m sure she is,” I agreed. “It’s just…Piers…I’m me.”

“And what’s so wrong with you?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I’m from New Jersey!” I offered up my go-to line as to why I wasn’t good enough for “the Firm.” “I can’t meet the Queen! And everyone there will know Chelsy,” I pointed out, “and I’ll get compared to her. Which is terrible because she’s perfect and looks like a Barbie and I _very_ much do not.”

Piers was silent for a moment, making sure I was done my rant before throwing in his two cents. “First of all, I really don’t see what’s so wrong with you being American. Autumn Phillips is Canadian, and nobody cares. Second, if you weren’t fit to be a guest at a royal wedding, you wouldn’t be one, _believe me_. Fergie isn’t even invited. You know why? Because she’s an embarrassment. You’re invited, so you’re not one. Everyone likes you. Everyone wants you to be there. As far as Chelsy goes, you know what Harry was like back then, the Party Prince and all that. Chelsy’s a nice girl but she’s got nothing between her ears. You look through and you can see straight into next week.” I snickered, even though I doubted this was true. Chelsy had just gotten into law school, after all. “Look, if it helps, I’ve known Harry for a long time, and I’ve never known him to be as happy as he is now. He’s the most restless, easily distracted person I know. When he was at Eton the press even thought he had some sort of learning disorder – that’s how bad it is. For some reason, he can be calm when he’s with you. And that is not something that Harry is a lot of the time.” When I didn’t say anything, Piers asked, “If you’ve hung up on me now, I’m going to be really angry that I gave that whole speech for nothing.”

“I’m here,” I told him, a smile spreading across my face. “Thanks, Piers.”

“Anytime, Rox. Except if that time is four in the morning ever again.”

I said goodbye and hung up before rummaging through my Vera Bradley bag. Piers had calmed me down, but I still needed something, just to take the edge off. I’d seen this problem coming, which was why I’d purchased a pack of emergency cigarettes yesterday. Opening it and finding some matches in the room, I went out on the balcony. 

As soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. I was only wearing my bathrobe and my pajama bottoms. Underneath me, the crowds of people had not subsided during the night. On the contrary, the group had nearly doubled in size, creating a lake of the tops of people’s heads below me. Cameras flashed up at me, but I was too high up for a good picture. Figuring that, even if there was a picture that wasn’t a blurry mess, none of these shots would be used in the press (there would be far too many good ones of Kate to waste any page space on me), I lit up a cigarette.

***

_Poor Will and Kate_ , I thought as my alarm went off the morning of the 29th. If I hadn’t slept all night, I was sure they hadn’t either. I made myself a cup of coffee before there was a knock on my door. It was the girls who were going to do my hair and make up. I let them in with a friendly greeting and felt my stomach flip flop for the first time that day. Suddenly, it was all real. I was _really_ dating Prince Harry. I was _really_ going to the royal wedding. And I was _really_ going to meet the Queen in a matter of hours. _Holy. Shit._

The girl doing my hair (who had an accent that made her sound like Burt the chimney sweep from _Mary Poppins_ ) saw my face and laughed. “Oh dear, I know that face. And I don’t mind tellin’ ya now, Roxy, I know you’re nervous, but it’s too late to turn back.”

Not exactly the most inspiring speech in the world. 

I had just thanked the girls and was pinning my fascinator in my hair when the rrom phone rang. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Miss DeLaSearle. This is the front desk. We’re calling to let you know that Miss Middleton has requested you stop at her room before heading off to the Abbey.”

“What?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“The Middleton’s will be expecting you promptly at 9:45.”

Oh shit, it was 9:40 now. “Okay, thank you,” I said, hanging up the phone and checking myself in the mirror one last time. A courier would be over during the ceremony to take my second outfit to Clarence House. It all seemed completely backwards and bizarre to me, albeit extremely convenient.

When I stepped out into the hall I shivered, and felt my entire body start to shake as I slowly made my way to the elevator. Why did Kate want to see me now? Wasn’t she busy? I wasn’t going to say “no” to a woman on her wedding day (especially one that would one day be Queen), but what could Kate possibly have to talk to me about? She was about to get married! For the first time that day, I felt something other than crippling fear and anxiety. Instead, my heart swelled with happiness for my friends, and I let out a sigh of relief. 

I was twisting my fingers in my hands as the doors opened on the top floor with a friendly ding. There were people carrying bouquets, and dresses in black zippered-up bags up and down the hallways, talking to each other hurriedly in their headsets. I didn’t know where Kate was, so I just followed where the most commotion was coming from. The door was closed and I knocked timidly. Carole opened the door and I started, “So sorry to bother you, but the front desk told me that Kate wanted to talk to me?”

She opened the door wider. “Of course, darling. Don’t look so terrified, it’s only us.” When I stepped into the suite, which was roughly the size of my entire house in New Jersey, Carole embraced me in a warm hug and I could practically feel the pride emitting from her. “She’s just down the hall that way getting settled with her dress,” Carole instructed me.

I pushed out a smile at her and made my way down the hall. It seemed to last forever, like a prisoner walking to his execution…Okay, maybe I was being a little dramatic. When I reached the closed door, I gave another timid knock and then held my breath in anticipation. Pippa opened the door, just a sliver at first, before grinning at me, grabbing my wrist, and pulling me inside with a giggle. “Look!” she pointed at Kate, who was standing in the room, ready to walk down the aisle. There was another woman buttoning up the back of her dress and making sure everything was perfect. I assumed this was the designer. 

As soon as I saw Kate, all of my nerves completely calmed. I was overwhelmed by those jubilant wedding emotions. “Oh my God,” I breathed out, tears instantly springing to my eyes. “You look _so_ pretty.” It was an understatement, but it was all I could get out. The dress was perfect – a lace bodice, a delicately cut v-neck, a silk a-line skirt that I was sure would feel like lotion if I touched it. Her hair was pinned half-up and she had a sparkling tiara on top. If anyone had ever looked like a princess on her wedding day, it was Kate. There were absolutely no words that would describe her. Plus, she had this calm, warm glow about her that was infectious and I instantly felt drunk with happiness.

She beamed at me. “Thank you.”

Then I turned to Pippa, inspecting her bridesmaid dress, which was also beautiful. “You look amazing,” I told her, admiring her slim figure.

“I know, right? Check out my bum in this dress!” She twirled around so I could admire her backside, which did look incredible. 

“Damn!” I let out, and then covered my mouth. It didn’t seem right to swear around Kate’s dress.

The three of us giggled before Kate asked, “Can Roxy and I have a moment alone please?”

The woman who was adjusting the dress checked her watch. “Three minutes, Catherine,” she tersely reminded her.

Kate assured her our talk would only take three minutes before she and Pippa left the room. I immediately took a few steps closer to her. “Is everything all right?” I asked her, adjusting her lace-trimmed veil, unsure of what could possibly be wrong in a dress as gorgeous as that.

“Yes, of course, everything’s fine. I just…I have some things to tell you.”

“What could you possibly have to tell me right now that can’t wait?” I asked, shaking my head.

She smiled back at me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “It’s time for me to pass the torch, Roxy.” It was clear that I still had no idea what she was talking about and she elaborated. “In a few minutes, you’ll be the only royal girlfriend. I figured I should let you in on some of the lessons I’ve learned over the years.”

“Is one never be naked anywhere ever?” I asked, thinking back to the Foxy Roxy debacle.

Kate shook her head with a charming giggle. “No, I think you’ve already learned that one. I have only three. Number one: don’t listen to anything anyone says ever. All that matters is that you two love each other. If that’s right, the rest will follow.” 

I took a deep breath, trying to mentally capture this moment. 

“Number two: Harry’s mother died when he was very young, and it was very sad. But that is not an excuse for anything. You’ve had your hard times growing up as well. Don’t ever let him use his family as an excuse for anything, unless you’re willing to let him use it as an excuse for everything.” Well, that was a good one. 

I nodded. 

“And finally, three. Roxanna, you are a wonderful, beautiful person. And you deserve everything good in your life that you get. He is not more important than you, and his feelings don’t matter more than yours do. And the second you even _think_ that might be true, you have to get out.” I swallowed hard and nodded slowly. “Because you are in this relationship, just as much as he is. And you’re just as important. Do you understand?” I gave her another nod and she took a deep breath. “Right. That’s everything.” Her face broke out into an uncontrollable smile. “I’m going to go get married now.”

Giving her a kiss on both sides of her face, I beamed back at her, trying not to cry on her dress, or mine. “You look beautiful,” I assured her one more time before giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you after, Your Royal Highness.” On the news I’d heard that earlier that morning, the Queen had given William and Catherine the official titles of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. We both giggled as I bowed to her.

When I left the room, I spotted Carole dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Mum, seriously, you have got to stop,” Pippa was scolding her. 

“It’s emotional,” Carole insisted, “and I won’t be able to cry at the church.”

I had to side with Carole on this one. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re going to be able to hold it in,” I admitted.

Carole and Pippa both gave me blank stares before informing me, “We’re British. We just do.”


	34. And All Of My Worldly Goods With Thee I Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry had taken me to Westminster Abbey on our tour of London, but it hadn’t been surrounded by screaming crowds and packed full with official guests, like it was today. When the grey Mercedes busses dropped us off in front of the church, I desperately wished that I knew someone else. Today was not a good day to stand around looking like an idiot. I was biting down on my bottom lip and frantically searching for a familiar face when I finally found two. “Guy! Piers!” I hollered, waving my arms in the most un-royal way. 

Both of them looked around, surprised that someone was shouting and making a commotion. When they saw me, recognition dawned on their faces and I sighed with relief. “Roxanna DeLaSearle, well look at you,” Guy assessed my outfit.

“You look like one of us,” Piers said.

“Oh, thanks,” I waved a hand, brushing off the front of my teal dress. “I don’t know. You don’t think the hat looks stupid?”

They smirked. “It’s not a hat, Roxy, it’s a fascinator, and everybody will be wearing one.” 

I rolled my eyes and reached out to clutch onto their hands. “Okay. So let’s stay with me and if you leave my side for a second I’m going to kill both of you.”

“Well that sounds quite serious,” Guy frowned. “All right then, I guess we’re not leaving you.” He scrunched up his nose and pursed his lips like he was sucking on a lemon (and reminind me of Madam} before finally offering, “Roxy, I’m afraid the last time I saw you I said some…some awfully stupid things.”

“Oh, please. Don’t worry about it, Guy. That’s water under the bridge.”

“I was drunk and acting a fool, and I apologize,” he went on anyway. I decided to accept this apology instead of speculating out loud that Guy had been something other than drunk. I didn’t want to start that discussion on today of all days, and the Wales brothers didn’t take kindly on people commenting on their friends. Kate had attempted to have a discussion with Will about some of his friends once, and it had not gone well. (Or, if you believed the _Lifetime_ movie that B, Pippa, and I had laughed our way through, that conversation had ended with Kate storming out of a car and walking home. That, of course, was not the truth.)

After that, a man in a grey suit came up behind us and started pushing us towards the inside of the church. I squeezed Piers’s hand excitedly and jumped up and down a little. “Royal wedding! Royal wedding! Aren’t you excited?” I demanded.

Piers tried to pull his hand out of my grip. “I’d be more excited if you weren’t cutting off the circulation to my fingers. Or if I’d gotten any sleep last night.”

When we were in the Abbey, Guy and Piers introduced me to some of William’s friends I hadn’t met. There were loads of their friends from college who had been friends with Will and Kate since they were at St. Andrews. “How cute!” I clapped my hands together.

One of the friends, Anthony, gave me an amused smirk. “How did you meet Harry?”

“In a club,” I admitted. “Not very romantic.”

“And he doesn’t mind that you’re an American?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I looked to Piers who just nudged my elbow good-naturedly. Taking Anthony’s question as the joke I hoped it was meant to be, I asked, “Um…should he?”

Anthony shrugged. “No, not as such. This must all be very strange to you.”

“Totally,” I agreed. “I don’t get any of the rules. It’s crazy. But super fun! When it's not terrifying. And I don’t know if you know this, but my boyfriend is _really_ cute.”

He laughed. “I have to admit, I’ve never looked at Harry as a sexual object, but I’ll do it and see how I feel.”

“Do whatever you want, but remember, he’s taken,” I pointed an accusing finger at him. Before anyone could laugh at my joke, I spotted Posh and Becks up front and grabbed onto the boys. “Oh my God, Posh Spice is here.”

“That’s who you’re excited about in that couple?” Guy asked. “Not the international football star?”

“Are you kidding me? It's not even a contest. I’m _much_ more excited about Posh Spice. The girls and I have Spice Girls sing alongs, like, all the time,” I confessed.

Guy snickered. “You _have_ to tell her that.”

“Are you kidding? The first thing I’m going to do when I see her is tackle her and tell her how much I love her.”

“And the second thing you’ll do will be receiving a restraining order,” Piers muttered.

I smacked his arm playfully when Guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Rox, you’re going up front here,” he told me, gesturing to the front couple of rows of people. 

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“Harry will be sitting up there, and since you’re his date you’ll be up there, too,” Piers explained. 

I whipped around to face him, clutching onto his hands. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Piers, I can’t go up there. Not with…with _everyone_.”

Piers and Guy looked at each other and shrugged. I knew that they were both thinking the same thing – that I had to go up there, whether I wanted to or not. “Well…you have to, because that’s where your seat is,” Guy slowly explained. “Here, I’ll go with you, just to walk you up there.” It felt like my mom walking me to my classroom on the first day of kindergarten. I tugged on the necklace I was wearing (the one William gave me for Christmas) nervously as Guy steered me towards the seats up front. “Oi, Bea,” he called once we got further to the front. A red-haired girl I recognized as Harry’s cousin Beatrice turned around and waved at him. When we got closer to her, he introduced us. “Bea, Eugenie, this is Harry’s girlfriend, Roxy.”

The sisters giggled. “Oh, we’ve heard a lot about you, Roxy,” Beatrice told me.

“We’ve wanted to meet you for ages, but Harry didn’t want to introduce us,” Eugenie, the brunette, and obviously the younger one, confessed.

With a check to make sure I was okay, Guy left me with the Princesses of York and returned to his seat. “I have to admit, that was kind of my fault. I’ve been so nervous to meet everybody.”

“Well you’ll meet us all today,” Eugenie assured me. “I guess it’s good that you’re doing it all in one go.”

I nodded and Beatrice added, “Besides, we’re not the scary ones. That’s Zara.”

From behind us, a beautiful blonde girl leaned forward. “What are you saying about me?” she asked. This was Harry’s cousin Zara, who was older than he and William but for some reason wasn’t a princess. She also had an older brother, Peter, who wasn’t a prince and wasn’t in William’s position to be king because…I didn’t really get why.

“Well Roxy here was scared to meet everyone, so we told her that you were the only scary one,” Eugenie helpfully informed her.

“I’m not scary!” Zara insisted behind us. “Am I Roxy?”

“No! No, nobody is ‘scary’,” I made air quotes with my fingers in the space above my head. “It’s just that I’ve never been at a function where everyone is Her Royal Highness This or His Royal Highness That.”

Snickering, Beatrice added, “Everyone except Zara.” I frowned, wondering if it was a huge faux pas to ask why she didn’t have a title, but before I could Zara had reached forward and shoved Beatrice’s shoulder, the same way I could tell she’d been doing since they were both kids. “It’s a sore subject,” Beatrice laughed loudly, and several flowery, feathered hats turned in our direction.

Feeling my cheeks flame up, I tried to blend in with Beatrice’s rosy coat. When people had turned back around, I turned back to the Princesses, and Zara, and was decidedly quieter when I asked, “So…Zara…um…why…well, I was just wondering… since your Harry’s cousin…well…um…”

Waving a hand, Zara assured me that asking about her lack of title wasn’t breaking any social etiquette. “You don’t have to worry about offending me, I know you’re an American. You don’t know how this stuff works. Titles aren’t handed down from the mother.”

“But…Prince Charles has a title,” I frowned.

Zara and the York sisters giggled at my confusion, but still didn’t answer the question. They didn’t have time to, because from outside we heard a wild cheer. Moments later, I saw William and Harry making their way up the aisle. My heart tripped in my chest, but to be honest I wasn’t sure which Wales prince I was swooning over. Harry was in his formal Blues and Royals uniform, which was black and accentuated his broad shoulders. He’d never looked more handsome. And he was with me. After all I’d done and said and been, he still wanted me here, with him, for the big things. He still wanted to be with me. Me! This time last year, I’d been dancing in an empty studio in New Jersey, considering waiting tables and going to Rutgers, and now I was sitting in the front of _Westminster Abbey_ , the date of a _prince_ , sitting with his _princess cousins_ (except, apparently, Zara).

And William...I remembered an image I’d seen of him in a teenybopper magazine when he was first going to college. I’d never found him attractive before, having been more of a Harry girl from the start, but that picture had made me swoon right in line at the grocery store. He was like that picture now. He was wearing a red uniform and he looked just like he’d stepped right out of a Disney movie. William was every woman’s ideal Prince Charming. My eyes already started to sting with tears as I thought of how proud their mother would be of them right now. As my chest was swelling, Harry looked over and winked at me before making his way to us. “Hello Bea, Eugenie, Zar,” he greeted them all with kisses. “You’ve all met Roxanna?”

“Yes, _finally_ ,” Eugenie lamented. Then, beaming at me and squeezing my knee she added, “And she’s _lovely_.”

“I think so,” Harry nudged my elbow. 

“William looks so…” I probably shouldn’t have started talking, because I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Instead of using words, I just visibly shivered and went, “Mm…”

Harry looked at me in disbelief for a second, the same way he had the first few times we’d met and I’d made a ridiculous or inappropriate (or both) joke. “Well, he’s taken, I’m afraid,” he told me.

“Dash!” I exclaimed, using the British equivalent for, “Damn!” “In that case, I guess I’ll just have to settle for you.”

Laughing again, Harry hugged me, taking the opportunity to whisper in my ear, “I’m so happy you’re here.” When we pulled away, I didn’t have time to respond before he had to go talk to his other relatives, like Zara’s mother and the Yorks’s father. I understood why, but I was sort of disappointed that Fergie had been exiled from the wedding. I’d always liked her. Probably because she was constantly embarrassing herself in front of millions of people, which was something I thought I’d have to be good at. 

“It’s beautiful in here,” Zara noted behind us. “I love that she put the trees in down the aisle.”

“Isn’t it lovely? And the candles are making it smell delicious. It looks better than when Mum got married here,” Beatrice noted.

“Your mom got married here?” I asked.

Eugenie nodded. “She was the last bride to get married here before this,” she told me.

I smiled. That was sort of sweet. Of course, Prince Andrew’s marriage hadn’t ended that well, but it was nice to think of everyone being happy...before everyone wasn’t. 

From outside again there was another huge explosion of cheers. “That’ll be Gran and Granddad,” Beatrice told me.

I sucked in my breath without thinking about it and held it as the Queen walked to her seat up front, next to Harry’s father and Camilla. She was wearing a daffodil yellow coat and hat with a diamond pin in it. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt better because she was in the same room as me. Nothing bad was going to happen today – the Queen was here. Maybe that was what people meant when they talked about Divine Right. I didn’t believe in God, but the Queen certainly had a presence about her. 

“Have you met her yet Roxy?” Zara whispered. The crowd had settled more now, anxiously awaiting Kate’s arrival.

“Not yet,” I answered. “I’m going to tonight at the reception.”

“Don’t be nervous,” she squeezed my shoulder. “She’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” I gulped. “I bet.” I didn’t think she was going to breathe fire on me or anything, I just wanted her to like me. I felt like I was in high school again, trying to impress a really popular kid, only the popular kid today had a crown.

A third, and final, cheer erupted outside and I immediately turned to the doors of the church. William and Harry were standing at the front of the altar, side by side. Beatrice reached out and gave my hand an excited squeeze. “Here she comes!” she squealed. Her excitement was contagious and I let out a giggle. The fanfare sounded and I jumped a little bit. I knew that Kate had spent hours with Charles picking out the music for the wedding. The song that was playing now was perfect – it wasn’t ostentatious, it wasn’t pretentious, it was just happy. I felt the goose bumps rise on my arms and go all the way up my neck. I shivered when I saw Kate down the aisle from far away. Her dad was holding onto her, a proud smile on his face. The lump swelled in my throat and my eyes started to sting with tears. 

I looked back at the boys, standing side by side at the altar. I had been with them tons of times, seen them interact with each other, watched them fight over football clubs, share shoes and shirts, eat off each other’s plates, love each other the ways brothers loved each other. But right now, all I could think of was the last time they had stood side by side at Westminster Abbey. _My boy_ , I thought, although I wasn’t sure where the thought had come from. My boy, standing there, so tall and proud. The whole world should have known him. The entire world deserved to know him and see how wonderful he was – how wonderful _I_ knew he was. And it didn’t matter that we were standing here today, it didn’t matter that he was a prince, none of that stuff mattered. He could have been a college kid anywhere else in this city, and his heart would still be the same. 

Tearing my eyes away from my boy, I looked at William, wondering how he was able to stand the waiting. He wasn’t allowed to turn and look at Kate until she had reached him at the altar – the anticipation would be killing me. Just as I was thinking that, Harry turned around and winked at me. I felt like my heart could burst. His eyes landed on Kate and a mischievous grin spread across his face. _Oh, Harry_ , I giggled to myself. Then he leaned in to William and I could make out the fact that he was teasing him, “Wait ‘til you see her.” _Oh, Harry…_

When Kate finally reached William, everyone was all smiles. To my surprise, there was no sniffling at all. No one was crying, not even happy tears. Deciding that everyone in the Abbey was some kind of mutant, I tried to blink away my own tears and focus on the couple. 

“Do you know the song, Roxy?” Beatrice whispered, opening the programs that had been placed on the pews. 

“Huh?” I asked.

She pointed to lyrics to a hymn in the program. It started to play and she leaned towards me again. “This was the last song at Auntie Di’s funeral.” I was glad that everyone else’s singing covered my gasp and tried to follow along. 

When the hymn was over, we all sat, and the Archbishop got up to start the ceremony. “Dearly beloved,” he started. While he went through all of the reasons why people got married (something having to do with God, apparently), I looked up to check out the other guests in the Abbey. A few rows behind us were Posh and Becks. Right in front was Elton John. _Holy shit!_

I guess Beatrice could see that I wasn’t paying attention because she nudged me as she straightened up, peering over everyone else’s fascinators. I did the same and realized that they were about to do the vows. “William Arthur Philip Louis,” the Archbishop started. Why did the boys have so many names? I made a mental note to ask Harry later. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health? and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

The entire time that the Archbishop was speaking, William wasn’t looking at anyone but Kate. I could tell that both of them were trying to contain their smiles from turning into big, goofy grins, because every once in a while they’d slip, and both of them would be beaming at each other. When he was supposed to answer the question, William tore his eyes away from his bride and answered, “I will.”

“Catherine Elizabeth, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health? and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” The last question made me think about what Carole had told me - that the only thing that mattered was that Harry knew I was loyal to him. Kate had been so fiercely loyal and protective of William, and you would think it would be the other way around. It was just as true that William was protective and loyal to her, but Kate really had stepped up. My heart was swelling to the point where I knew it would burst as Kate answered, “I will.” I choked back a happy sob.

The Archbishop asked who was giving Kate away, and Michael Middleton placed her hand in his before the Archbishop placed her hand in William’s. Repeating after the Archbishop, William started his vows. “I, William Arthur Philip Louis, take thee, Catherine Elizabeth, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.” The two of them still had that look on their faces – like they were the only two in the room. Only the room was really filled with seven hundred dignitaries.

“I, Catherine Elizabeth, take thee, William Arthur Philip Louis, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.” 

As quietly as I could, I reached into my purse and pulled out the tissues Bianca had packed. While I was doing this, Harry stepped forward and gave Catherine’s wedding ring to the Archbishop. William wouldn’t be wearing a wedding ring, which I thought was sort of stupid, but whatever. If Kate was okay with it, I figured I was, too. The Archbishop blessed the ring before giving it to William, who placed it on Kate’s hand. Oh God, I knew I was just going to lose it now. I pressed under my eyes to catch the tears and silently prayed that I wouldn’t sob audibly. “With this ring, I thee wed; with my body, I thee honour; and all of my worldly goods with thee I share.”

Oh Jesus, yeah, I had totally lost it. I wasn’t sure why – the last line had just made me want to cry like a baby. Choking back a strangled sob, Beatrice and Eugenie gave me a horrified look. I glared back at them. “How are you not crying?” I hissed.

Beatrice shrugged and gave me the same answer Pippa had at the hotel. “We’re British. We don’t emote in public.”

I chuckled through my tears and then went back to dabbing under my eyes. As I looked up at where William and Kate were beaming at each other, I knew that it was an image that I would remember for the rest of my life.


	35. The Firm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

In between the morning and night receptions, Harry and I were going back to Clarence House, where my outfit for the reception was waiting for me. I was grateful that I’d get the chance to re-do my make up. The waterproof mascara had not lived up to its name, and I desperately needed to touch up.

Guy, Piers, and I went to Buckingham Palace (where I hadn’t been before) in the Mercedes coaches and waited in the white-walled, huge reception room while the family took pictures and the bride and groom kissed on the balcony. Beatrice and Eugenie introduced me to their father, who was maybe the most hilarious man I’d ever met. It figured – he and Harry had the same lot in life. Prince Andrew could afford to be louder and more carefree. 

“Dad! Meet Harry’s girlfriend, Roxy,” Eugenie clutched my hand and presented me to her dad, who was smartly dressed in his naval uniform.

“The ballerina? Foxy Roxy?” Prince Andrew greeted me with a kiss on the back of the hand.

“That’s me,” I blushed.

He blinked. “And an American?” he asked, seeming surprised. “Mama is going to love that.”

“Dad,” Beatrice nudged his shoulder. “She’s nervous already, don’t make it worse.”

“Worse? I’m sure I can’t possibly make her feel worse than she already does. But I’m still going to try,” he assured me. Surprisingly, this made me feel a lot better, probably because he was making me laugh and taking my mind off of what was coming in the next couple of hours.  
The York sisters apparently saw it as their mission to take me under their wing and introduce me to assorted members of the Windsor-Mountbatten family. I was extremely grateful for this, or else I’d be standing around awkwardly, waiting for Harry to be done making women swoon up on the balcony. After I had chatted with the Duke of York, Beatrice started waving her arms and jumping up and down. “Peter! Peter! Come here!” Again, she was the only one shouting in a crowded room and more than one person was looking at her, not bothering to be subtle about the fact that they wished she’d stop.  
I looked to see who Beatrice was waving at and saw a tall, handsome man who looked remarkably like William, only a few years older...like, almost exactly like William. It was actually sort of weird. He came over to us and greeted Beatrice and Eugenie with kisses on the cheek. I knew that this was William’s older cousin, Zara’s older brother. Like Zara, he didn’t have a title; he was simply Peter Philips. He had gotten married a couple of years ago and had a little girl in the wedding, and another baby on the way. “Peter, this is Roxy, Harry’s girlfriend,” Eugenie was all too happy to tell him.

“Oh, hello Roxy, it’s nice to meet you. Sort of cruel for Harry to throw you into all this all at once,” he noted with a chuckle.

I waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve met a handful of you already.”

“Oh, that’s all right then I suppose. Have you lot seen Zara? She’s holding my mobile in her purse.” He started to look around the crowded room for her when there was a high-pitched shriek of, “Daddy! Daddy!” A little girl who looked like a porcelain doll in a poufy white dress was shooting through the crowd. Peter leaned down to the ground and scooped her up, planting a huge kiss on her cheek. She may have been the most adorable child I’d ever seen. Her hair was so fine it looked like cotton candy – like bright gold cotton candy. “Did you see me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“I did,” Peter assured her. “You did excellent! Did you say hello to Auntie Beatrice and Auntie Eugenie?” he asked, holding her out so she could give her aunts the adorable, sloppy kisses that kids gave. 

When she’d greeted her aunts, she rested her head on her dad’s shoulder and her eyes turned to me. “Who’s that girl?” she asked, pointing at me.

Chuckling at his daughter's frankness, Peter told her, “This is Roxy, Uncle Harry’s friend. Can you say hello Savannah?” he asked. Shyly, she only buried her face further into his shoulder as I gave her a small wave. Peter gave me a knowing look before asking, “Savannah, do you know what Roxy does?” His blonde, blue-eyed, angelic child blinked up at him like a cartoon. “She’s a ballerina.”

Savannah gasped and squirmed, signaling to her father that she was done being held. When she was back on the floor, Savannah tugged on my hands and I bent over to talk to her. “Do you have a pink tutu?” she asked.

“I do,” I nodded. Well, okay, I didn’t, but I used to. 

“Do you have a crown?” It seemed strange that this child would care if I had a crown. People who had crowns –real ones – every day surrounded her. “With pink stones in it? Like the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

Ah. Now I got it. “I do,” I nodded to her. “In fact, I know the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

Savannah’s eyes were the size of the chargers that were set out on the tables in the reception hall. “You _do_?” she asked, her voice just a tiny, childish whisper.

“I do,” I nodded. 

Peter tried to explain. “Autumn and I signed her up for ballet lessons in the fall. We thought she’d be too young. She probably is, but it’s adorable.”

Waving a hand I assured him, “I started dancing when I was three.”

“Well now she’s completely obsessed. Most little girls love princesses, but since that’s just the normal day to day for her, she’s become fully into ballerinas,” Peter explained.

I laughed. “Oh I get it, that _was_ me.”

“Mummy!” Savannah called out, reaching for a blonde who was extremely pregnant.

“Hello Savie!” she waved. I watched with wonder as she leaned down and picked her up. How could she be so pregnant and hold a kid at the same time? Also, I noticed that she didn’t have a British accent. This was Autumn Phillips, who Piers had mentioned to make me feel better about not fitting in. “You were so pretty! Were you a good girl?”

Savannah nodded. “I got to ride back with Uncle Harry. In the carriage!” she squealed. “This girl is a ballerina!”

“I know! Just like you! Did you show her how you can dance on your tippy toes?” she asked.

Savannah hopped down from her perch on her pregnant mother’s stomach and showed me how she would turn in a circle on her toes, her arms over her head. “Good job!” I clapped for her. “You’re such a pretty ballerina.”

The little girl giggled, flattered. “Roxy, this is my wife, Autumn,” Peter introduced us.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Autumn shook my hand. She was definitely beautiful - a perfect, blonde royal. Only she wasn’t a royal. Or was she? I couldn’t keep any of this straight. 

“You, too,” I smiled at her. 

“It’s a relief to have someone who sounds like me around here,” she said, holding Savannah’s hand. “You’re American, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Where are you from?”

“Canada,” she nodded. “When Peter and I met, I didn’t know any of this – like the rules, and stuff. So don’t worry, you’re not alone.”

With a relieved sigh, I thanked her and was about to ask her more questions when an elegantly dressed woman threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. I recognized her as Peter and Zara’s mother, Princess Anne. “Hi, Mum. Started celebrating, have you?” Peter teased, gesturing to the mimosa she was holding.

“Don’t be rude to your Mama,” she scolded gently.

Peter shook his head before turning to me. “Mum, this is Roxy, Harry’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, Roxanna. Right, I remember Charles told me about you,” she nodded and held her hand out to me.

When I shook hands with her, I curtsied the way Bianca had shown me. Out of all of the royals I’d met, I probably had the most respect for Princess Anne. First of all, she’d lived her entire life dealing with the injustice of being last in line for everything, just because she was a woman. Second, she’d once been the victim of an attempted kidnapping. Um… _what_? Third, she’d medaled in European equestrian championships. And most importantly (to me, at least), her first husband, a man named Mark Phillips, had been one of the sleaziest, sketchiest, most disgusting men on the face of the earth. He’d fathered _two_ illegitimate children… _while_ he was married to Princess Anne. If that had happened to me, I probably would have crawled into a hole and died. Clearly, Princess Anne had not chosen that route. Instead, she’d fallen in love with a man who was actually nice and married him. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” I told her honestly, and was about to say more when I felt someone snake their arms around my waist. 

With a kiss on the cheek, Harry greeted us. “Have you been scaring her away?” he asked Peter and Autumn, and Princess Anne.

Autumn gave Harry a playful smack on the shoulder. “I was being nice!” she assured him.

“See, Autumn sounds just like you,” Harry nudged my elbow. “Let’s get some champagne,” he suggested, and I waved good-bye as we made for a server with a silver tray of champagne flutes balanced on the palm of his hand. “So, how was it?”

I summarized my experience of the wedding to Harry, including the parts where I’d cried and Beatrice and Eugenie had been shocked. “It was so beautiful,” I finished.

“Wasn’t it? It’ll be a lot to live up to.” When I gave Harry a skeptical look, he laughed and handed me my champagne. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning another royal wedding. It would be too soon after this one, ruin the whole thing.”

Letting out a relieved laugh, I agreed with him and sipped my champagne.

***

Originally, the concept of two receptions had confused me, but by the time Harry and I had finished brunch I knew why it was necessary. I felt like I was going to pop out of my dress, and I desperately needed a nap. Meeting all of Harry’s family (which consisted of one aunt, two uncles, and six cousins on his dad’s side alone) was exhausting. A bunch of us took the coach back to Clarence House, where Harry took my hand and led me to his room, assuring his dad that we wouldn’t be late to the reception. When we got to his bedroom, he took off the hat he was wearing with his Blues and Royals uniform and tossed it on his bed. “I’m absolutely exhausted,” he sighed, "and my face hurts from all the smiling.”

“Poor you,” I feigned pity. 

Harry rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his jacket. “How long have we got before we have to be back at BP?” Checking my watch, I told him we had a couple of hours. “Oh, thank the lord. I can take a nap.”

“That actually sounds amazing,” I confessed, stepping out of my heels and flopping down on Harry’s bed. He did the same next to me, still in his black pants and a white t-shirt. “You looked really cute today.”

“Cute?” he asked, obviously offended. “I was supposed to look dashingly handsome.”

Laughing, I assured him, “Well, that, too.”

Harry could only manage a half-hearted smack on my thigh. This, of course, led to him squeezing it, which led to his hand reaching up my skirt. “I thought you were exhausted,” I smirked.

“Not too exhausted for that,” he corrected me, nuzzling my neck. 

Of course. Harry (nor any other man, I imagined) was _never_ too exhausted for that. A bit later, when the green Reiss dress I’d been so proud to find was lying in a heap on the floor, we were both too tired even for words and I fell asleep almost immediately. 

When we woke up, it was only to the sound of someone knocking urgently on the door. Wrapping the sheet around him, Harry got up. His rusty hair was a complete mess. Whoever was on the other side of that door was going to know _exactly_ what we’d been doing. Feeling my face get hot, I tried to hide under the comforter as much as I could. Outside the door was one of the women I’d seen working at the Goring. Immediately, she blushed almost as hard as I was and averted her eyesight. “So sorry to interrupt – I mean, disturb you, Your Royal Highness,” she stammered. “I have Miss DeLaSearle’s reception outfit.”

“Brilliant, I can take it,” he offered, and then there was an awkward pause, because if he reached out to take the dress and the shoes, he would have to let go of the sheet. Turning back to me, I blushed even more and buried my head in the pillow. “Actually, why don’t you come in and put it down,” he suggested.

The woman draped my dress over the back of a chair and placed my shoes next to it. She was about to leave when she turned around and, not looking at either of us, said, “Miss DeLaSearle’s hair and make up assistants will be here soon.” She left out the end of her statement before she shut the door behind her, but we both knew it was, “So put some damn clothes on.”

Harry snickered when she was gone, before crawling up on the bed toward me and giving me a hard kiss on the mouth. “Harry,” I warned. “You heard her. My hair and make up girls will be here soon.”

“How soon is soon?” he murmured.

I was about to tell him I didn’t know when there was another knock on the door. I guess we had our answer. “Just a minute!” I called out, and jumped out of bed. I threw on a pair of Harry’s gym shorts and a button down shirt, and made sure Harry was halfway decent before opening the door. “Hi girls,” I smiled at them.

“Hello again. Your Royal Highness,” the girl with the distinct accent greeted Harry with a curtsey. 

I'd rinsed off the sex-sweat and my team and I were settled in the bathroom when Harry came in. “Any reason I need to be here for this?” he asked.

I shook my head, thanking God he hadn’t come in when my hair was in rollers or anything. “No. Why?”

“I just want to go talk to Wills right quick,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Harry, they just got married. Do they want you around right now?”

“He just texted me!” Harry insisted in his own self-defense. “He wants to make sure I’m not making him look like an ass in my best man speech.” I told him I believed him and he bent down to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You ladies make sure I can still recognize her when you’re done with her. You shouldn’t have much work to do since she’s beautiful already.” The girls let out long, “aw”s and Harry winked at me and left. 

“Is he always like that?” the girl pinning up half of my hair asked.

I had to think about it for a minute, but finally I answered, “Yeah, he kinda is.”

Chapter Thirty-Six: One And Only


	36. One and Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

For the reception, Kate had changed into another ridiculously beautiful dress with a sparkling belted waist and a white fur bolero. She was the perfect combination of looking adorable and sexy at the same time. I was wondering how that was possible as Harry and I left Clarence House. I was wearing a silver sparkling dress that felt like it weighed twenty pounds. “Are you sure I don’t look like a disco ball?”

Harry chuckled. “No, you look incredibly sexy,” he assured me.

Not believing him, I sighed and we made our way back into BP. 

“ _Mon Dieu!_ Rock-SEE! You look zo gorgeous!” Charlotte ran up to me, greeting me with the now-familiar Euro kiss. 

“ _Roxy_! _Look_ at this _dress_!” Bea commanded, reaching out and placing her hands on my waist. It was a little more touching than I was used to, but I figured I should just go with it. “You look _hot_!”

“Thanks,” I blushed as Harry kissed my temple. “So do you ladies.”

“Come on, let’s sit. The sooner they give the speeches, the sooner they have the first dance, and after that the party can really get started,” Eugenie insisted, leading us over to the table. She was right – shortly thereafter Harry was giving his best man speech. I was actually surprised that William had approved it; it made him sound absolutely pathetic, but in the sweetest, most romantic way possible. He and Kate laughed at his speech before William made one of his own. Throughout it, the newly minted Duke and Duchess of Cambridge shared so many of those secret smiles. I wondered if Harry and I would ever be able to do that, or if we ever did and I just hadn’t noticed.

There were a plethora of English performers for the wedding, but the one to sing the first dance was Ellie Goulding. She’d been part of the rotation when I’d pulled away from Harry, but her songs tonight were all happy ones instead of slow ballads. While she sang “Your Song,” I felt my eyes tear up watching the Cambridges spin in slow circles. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just asked Elton John to do it, and snuck a peak at him. He looked happy enough with Ellie’s cover and I smiled, remembering the record I found in the room at KP.

Soon enough, the song was over and the rest of the guests were invited to the dance floor. It took some coaxing, but eventually Pippa, Charlotte, and the York sisters got me up to dance to some fun songs. I’d had several glasses of champagne when the Yorks danced up to me, huge mischievous grins on their faces. “You’ll never guess what song we’ve put on next.” The songs were going back and forth between live performances and a DJ.

“What?” I asked.

Before they could tease me, the familiar opening to “Wannabe” came on. Pippa and I threw our hands up and immediately started singing along. I had drunkenly been shaking my groove thing along with the first verse when a slender arm was around Bea’s shoulders. “I think I know this song,” Victoria Beckham said with a sly smile.

“Oh. My. God,” I let out. She and her husband were even more beautiful in person. How was that possible? “We love you,” I blurted, meaning all my girlfriends and I.

“Thanks,” she giggled, and then joined us in the sing-and-dance-along.

I had been worried that my shoes would end up killing my feet, but I hardly noticed. Whether it was from all of the champagne, or all the fun I was having I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care. I could have stayed up late into the night, until the early morning, drinking and dancing with Harry’s relatives. I picked up Savannah and twirled her around. His young cousin Louise danced with me to Justin Bieber. Harry twirled me around to a song by someone named Cheryl Cole, who I didn’t know but who made poppy, infectious, guilty-pleasure songs. I couldn’t remember the last night I’d had that could even compete with this night for the best or most fun of my life.

By the time Harry tapped me on the shoulder, I was happy that I’d gone with the half-up look for my hair. What was half-up was flying out in wisps around my face. I was certain I’d burned a week’s worth of calories from all the dancing. “Come on, come meet Gran before you have too much champagne.”

“Oh, Harry, if that’s your goal I’m afraid you’re too late,” I informed him, pressing my hand lightly against his chest. 

He kissed me before leading me off the dance floor. “Right. Are you ready?” he asked.

Sobering up immediately, I brushed off the front of my silver dress. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll be fine,” he encouraged and took my hand. The Queen was having a conversation with some diplomat or another, but she immediately excused herself when she saw Harry approaching her. “Gran,” he greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks.

“Hello, darling,” she smiled warmly at him.

“This is my girlfriend, Roxanna.”

I curtsied, my heart going a mile a minute. “Your Majesty.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Roxanna.”

I didn’t know why, but this made me blush. “Roxy’s just learning about British history in school,” Harry volunteered.

“Oh? And which bit is your favorite?” she inquired.

“Um…I’m interested in the Northern Ireland conflict. And Winston Churchill, of course.”

The Queen giggled, and I giggled because she was giggling and it was contagious. “Oh yes, Winston. He and Mama used to have such good fun. They both loved a stiff drink.”

“Winston Churchill was Gran’s first PM,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, yes,” the Queen confirmed, “and I hardly could have asked for a more willing teacher.”

“No, I don’t imagine you could have,” I nodded.

“And are you enjoying your schooling, Roxanna? You’re at the Royal Ballet Academy, are you not?”

“I am, Ma’am,” I responded, the way I’d been told. The first time it was “Your Majesty,” and then it was “Ma’am” as in “ham,” not “Mam” as in “palm.” “It’s amazing. I love it,” I told her.

“Harry’s mother loved the ballet,” she informed me. I had absolutely no idea how to handle this statement and was relieved when the Queen continued. “Are you enjoying yourself today?”

“Of course, Ma’am. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“It was, wasn’t it? We couldn’t have asked for a better day.”

Figuring we’d interacted for long enough, Harry offered an out. “You’re probably busy. We’ll see you later, Gran.”

“Yes, Harry. Have a good evening. It was a pleasure to meet you, Roxanna.”

“The pleasure was mine, Ma’am.” I curtsied again and followed Harry. When we were a few paces away, I turned to him. “That was amazing.”

Harry chuckled. “See. No reason to be worried.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I disagreed.

“I’ll get more champagne,” he volunteered, and with a quick peck he went off in search of beverages. I was admiring all of the immaculately dressed guests when Prince Charles approached me. “Your Royal Highness,” I greeted him with a curtsey.

“Hello Roxanna,” he smiled at me, giving me a familiar kiss on both cheeks. His informal greeting took me by surprise. “Are you having a good time?”

“Oh, definitely. This is all…unreal,” I finally finished.

Prince Charles smiled kindly at me. “I see you’ve met Mama.”

“Harry introduced us,” I confirmed. “She’s amazing.”

“Yes, she’s seen a bit of life,” Prince Charles agreed. He paused and looked towards where Kate was mingling with guests. I followed his gaze, smiling at how happy she looked. “Catherine is a wonderful woman. Of course, William was always going to end up with someone like her. She’s warm, and patient, and loving, and kind. So much like his mother, in some ways.” My heart warmed to hear Prince Charles speak fondly about his ex-wife. Nothing that flattering had come out of his mouth when she’d been alive, according to all the of the books I’d read. “Harry, on the other hand, needs something different, I think. Someone louder, just a bit unpredictable. Someone who isn’t afraid to let her hair down and have fun. Someone strong in those ways, the same ways his mother was strong.” My eyes were stinging with tears, not for the first time that day – not even close. “I am convinced, Roxanna, that you are the love of my boy’s life.”

Smiling through my tears, I curtsied again, even though protocol didn’t call for it. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Prince Charles smiled as Harry approached us.

“May I steal her away, Papa?”

“Go forth and be young,” Prince Charles dismissed us.

Harry took my hand and I let him lead me onto the dance floor. With my hand in his, I felt like someone had wrapped me up in a blanket and was holding me close, telling me that everything was okay. The room smelled like those flowery, orange-scented candles Pippa had lit everywhere. I wasn’t sure if it was the ambiance or the champagne, but there seemed to be a soft glow all around us. When we reached the dance floor, Harry took my hands and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. Then, gently, he brushed his palms down to my waist. I let myself lean against him, shutting my eyes as we swayed. Adele, now performing, crooned softly in the background.

_You’ve been on my mind._  
I grow fonder every day,  
lose myself in time  
just thinking of your face.  
God only knows  
why it’s taken me so long  
to let my doubts go.  
You’re the only one that I want. 

The last several hours played behind my eyelids; the phone call to Piers in the middle of the night; Kate’s advice before I went to the Abbey; talking with Beatrice, Eugenie, and Zara; meeting Peter and Autumn, and little Savannah; my conversation with Charles; meeting the Queen; dancing with Pippa, the York sisters, and Charlotte all night; the food; the wine. 

_I don’t know why I’m scared._  
I’ve been here before.  
Every feeling, every word,  
I’ve imagined it all.  
You’ll never know  
if you never try  
to forgive your past  
and simply be mine. 

Harry and I were swaying in slow circles, but I wasn’t getting dizzy at all. This whole time I’d tried to be strong, to resist my impulses. In the beginning, I hadn’t wanted to pursue things with Harry. So I’d tried to push him away, like a cold cup of coffee, for the sake of school, and for the sake of my mental health. And I wondered if I was holding him back from being who he truly was, if that was the Party Prince who hit up the usual nightclubs with Pippa and his other incredibly wealthy friends. And I wondered why he wasn't with someone like Charlotte, with her perfect looks and her perfect pedigree. But once in a while, like now, it was nice just to let him take the lead – to lean against him, so tall and strong, and let him hold on to me.

_So I dare you to let me be your_  
one and only.  
Promise I’m worthy  
to hold in your arms.  
So come on  
and give me the chance  
to prove I am the one who can  
walk that mile  
until the end starts. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled back a little bit. “Are you happy, my darling?”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked gently. “This has been the most amazing day of my life. When I’m 90, I’m going to be telling my grandchildren about this day.”

Harry smiled. “Good. I’m glad to have made you happy.”

_I’ve been on your mind._  
You hang on every word I say,  
lose yourself in time  
at the mention of my name.  
Will I ever know  
how it feels to hold you close  
and have you tell me  
whichever road I choose, you’ll go. 

I sighed and reached up, running my fingers through a few tufts of his soft, rusty hair. “Harry today was a dream. But all you need to do to make me this happy is look at me the way you’re looking at me right now, and call me your darling.” Any girl, of course, would have loved to be swept off her feet by a prince. But the truth was that prince, or no prince, royal wedding, or no royal wedding, I would have been just as happy to be in my dorm room watching a movie with Harry, just as happy to be with him at all, no matter who he was, what he had, or what he didn’t. The way that we felt about each other was practically tangible. I felt as though - when he gave me the tender look he was giving me right now, when he called me “my darling" - I could reach out between us and scoop up our love for each other my cupped hands.  
_Love._

Our love for each other.

_I don’t know why I’m scared,_  
I’ve been here before.  
Every feeling, every word –  
I’ve imagined it all.  
You’ll never know if you never try  
to forget your past  
and simply be mine. 

“Roxy, I…I want to tell you something.”

_I know it ain’t easy,  
giving up your heart._

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear it, or how you would react.”

_Nobody’s perfect.  
Trust me, I’m worth it._

“After today, after watching you with my family, and my friends. You've practically charmed my father into next week. And you were just lovely with Gran. The girls have been telling me all night how great they think you are.” 

_I know it ain’t easy,  
giving up your heart._

“I know you were nervous about today. But you showed up, and you’ve really…you’ve really been here. For me.” I knew what was about to happen. I could tell from the look on Harry’s face, and from the way his body was softening. My heart was about to burst. “Roxanna. I love you. I…” Harry cleared his throat. “I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, Harry,” I sighed, feeling a lump start to grow in my throat. “I love you, too. Huge,” I gestured, spreading my hands far apart.

Before the word was completely out of my mouth, Harry had swept me up in a passionate embrace, kissing my face all over. "Roxanna," he sighed, "my darling girl.” I choked back a sob, feeling like I could melt right there in Buckingham Palace. Pulling back again, Harry took my face in his hands. I was crying now, not bothering to hold back my tears. “You’ve made me so happy.” And with that, he planted a kiss on my mouth before I rested my head on his chest and we went back to dancing.

_So I dare you to let me be your_  
one and only.  
Promise I’m worthy  
to hold in your arms.  
Some come and give me the chance  
to prove I am the one who can  
walk that mile  
until the end starts. 

I was sure my heart would burst, that I would just die of happiness. “Harry,” I pulled away slowly. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Harry blinked, understanding dawning on his face. He bit down on his bottom lip, grinning, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Again, he took my hand and we quietly exited Buckingham Palace.


	37. Welcome to the Danger Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Extraterrestial" by Katy Perry ft. Kanye West
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When I woke up the next morning, it was to find Harry’s blue eyes glinting at me in their mischievous way. “No,” I whined, "don’t wake me up.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because, I just want to stay in yesterday,” I told him with a stupid grin.

He smiled back at me. “Well, the good news is that we have the whole rest of the weekend,” he reminded me. When my stomach grumbled, he chuckled and asked, “Do you want to go down for breakfast?”

I nodded and got out of bed. Breakfast at Clarence House was not like breakfast at KP. In Harry and Will’s apartment, we could eat breakfast in our robes and pajamas. At Clarence House, you actually had to be wearing real clothes, and they had to be nice considering this was a post-wedding celebration. It would have been worse at Buckingham Palace, where breakfast was served at a very specific time, and you stopped eating when the Queen did. Prince Charles had anticipated late-morning stragglers, though, and arranged for a buffet. I dressed in a white linen skirt and olive green sweater, and twisted my hair into French braid pigtails. It was easier than trying to do anything else with it, as the gallon of hairspray the girls had used yesterday still wasn't fully washed out of my hair. When we’d brushed our teeth, Harry turned to me and held his arms out. I wrapped mine around his shoulders and hugged him tight. “Mm…I love you,” Harry murmured into my hair.

“You _do_?” I asked, pulling away.

Harry nipped at the tip of my nose. I giggled before giving him an Eskimo kiss, rubbing our noses together. “I love you, too.” With a tap on my bottom, Hary laced his fingers through mine and we made our way down for breakfast.

In the reception hall at Clarence House, there was one long table with assorted family members scattered about. I filled my plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and poured myself a coffee before sitting at the table near the York sisters, Pippa, and Charlotte. Harry sat next to me and I noticed that he and the rest of the royals had chosen a mimosa instead of coffee. It seemed a little early to start drinking to me, but it was no skin off my nose. “Did Will and Kate leave yet?” Harry asked Pippa.

“They left earlier,” she told him.

“Where are they going for their honeymoon?” I inquired.

“Don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “They’re going somewhere this weekend, but Wills has to be back at work Monday. They’ll go on their real honeymoon later,” he explained.

I nodded and Pippa spoke up. “So, where are we going tonight?” She and the other girls all looked to Harry.

With a shrug, he suggested, “Boujis?’

Beatrice let out an unsatisfied huff. “We _always_ go to Boujis.”

“Because it’s _fun_ ,” Eugenie pointed out.

Charlotte offered up, “And I ‘ave nevair been zair.”

“See? Charlotte’s never been zair,” Eugenie repeated, mocking Charlotte’s thick French accent.

“Boujis it is then,” Pippa agreed before waving her arm around, trying to get the attention of her younger brother who was seated down at the other end of the table. “Oi! James!”

Looking embarrassed, her younger brother James got up and headed over to us. “Yes, Phillipa?”

“Hey, we’re going to Boujis tonight. You coming?” she asked.

“Sure,” he agreed. “When do you want to leave?”

The group chatted over ETDs and Harry turned to me. “What do you think? Boujis?”

I normally didn’t like clubs. I was too busy to go out and too certain that I looked too stupid to have any business being there, but the mood in the room was still elation from last night, and I didn’t want the party to end. “Sure. Boujis. Let’s do it.”

After breakfast, I kissed Harry on the cheek and told him that it was girl time. He pouted and not subtly implied that we'd get to have sex more if I went with him, but I resisted (mostly out of embarrassment because Charlotte and Pippa were laughing and the York sisters were squealing expressions of disgust). When we were all up in the room Charlotte was staying in, I called Bianca and invited her over. I also asked her to bring a little black dress. When I hung up, Pippa muttered, “It’s not like you have to impress anyone.” The other girls and I all stared at her. Even Pippa frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out as odd as it sounded,” she noted. Then, she explained, “I just meant that you don’t have to look sexy because you’ve already got a boyfriend. You could just go in sweatpants.”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to keep the romance alive,” I sarcastically agreed.

The five of us all splayed out in Charlotte's huge bed, flipping through magazines and figuring out how we wanted to do our hair and make up that night. Everyone in the room (except me) had enough money to call someone to come do it for them, but they insisted that it was more fun to do it ourselves, and I had to agree. I was pointing out bronze eyeshadow to Bea when the phone rang. Charlotte answered it with a, “Allo?” She paused and then held the phone out to me. “Eet ees for for you.”

“For me?” I frowned. She nodded and I took the phone. “Uh…hello?”

“Miss DeLaSearle, there is a Lady Bianca Winchester here to see you.”

“Oh, right! Send her in.” A few minutes later, Bianca opened the door to Charlotte’s room, holding two dresses and Vera Bradley bag. I leapt up off the bed and flung myself at her. I couldn’t remember ever being happier to see her. “I have so much to tell you!”

She giggled. “I have so much to hear!”

When we were done reuniting, I introduced her to everyone. “You know Pippa, and Bea and Eugenie."

"Hey B!" the York girls chorused. Part of the reason I was here in the first place was beauce Beatrice, Eugenie, and Biana were all childhood friends. 

"And that’s Charlotte.” Bianca gave Charlotte the same open-mouthed, lovestruck look I was sure I’d given her the first time I saw her. I assumed that Charlotte was so used to it by now, which was why she didn't bat an eye, just gave a friendly wave before going back to picking out looks for the night. I told them I’d see them later and took Bianca to an empty bedroom to tell her all about yesterday.

***

_I got a dirty mind,_  
I got filthy ways.  
I’m tryina bathe my ape  
in your milky way.  
I’m a legend,  
I’m irreverent.  
I’ll be so far u-u-u-u-up,  
we don’t give a fu-u-ck.  
Welcome to the danger zone,  
step into the fantasy.  
You are not invted  
to the other side of sanity.  
They callin’ me an alien,  
a big-headed astronaut.  
Maybe it’s because ya boy  
Yeezy get ass a lot. 

I pulled on my black jersey dress with nude lace at the waist. The dress fit like a glove, giving me the appearance of curves that I usually tried so desperately to hide. It was a refreshing sight, my real body, rather than the one I tried to live in six days a week. Charlotte had done my make-up: copper eyeshadow, cat-eyed liner, nude lips, bronzer. I looked like some glamazon goddess. Charlotte really knew what she was doing. Harry came up behind me and gave my bottom a small tap. “I like you in this dress,” he said in a voice that would suggest he’d like me better out of it.

“I like me in this dress,” I agreed, and slipped my feat into black stilletos.  
 _You’re so hypnotizing._  
Could you be the devil?  
Could you be an angel?  
Your touch – magnetizing;  
feels like I am floating,  
leave my body glowing.  
They say, “Be afraid,”  
you’re not like the others,  
futuristic lover,  
different DNA.  
They don’t understand you.

When it pulled up to the curb outside of Boujis, I exited the black SUV with my knees together. No need for the paparazzi wouldn’t learn that underwear didn’t go with this dress. A hand resting gently on my ass, Harry and I headed into Boujis. That was one thing he did want the paparazzi to see. I was his, and he was mine. When our large group entered, the thick crowd already inside the club cheered, celebrating their future king’s wedding and his friends family who had just walked in. 

_You’re from a whole ‘nother world,_  
a different dimension.  
You open my eyes  
and I’m ready to go,  
lead me into the light. 

We were immediately greeted by a girl holding a tray of full shot glasses. The glasses were adorned with tiny pictures of Will and Kate and in small, gold letters they celebrated, “Royal Wedding Weekend!!” “Take these, on the house,” the girl holding the tray urged us, shouting over the booming music.

“If you insist,” Harry joked. We clinked our glasses together and knocked back the tequila shots.

_Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me._  
Infect me with your lovin’,  
Fill me with your poison.  
Take me, ta-ta-take me.  
Wanna be your victim.  
Ready for abduction.  
Boy, you’re an alien,  
your touch so foreign.  
It’s supernatural.  
Extraterrestrial. 

I was teetering on my heels. The tequila shots kept coming. I’d lost count of how many I’d downed. The girls and I headed out to the dance floor. I didn’t notice that most of the club was watching. Every once in a while a brave, hopeful man would approach, only to be shut out. We were too busy forgetting that anyone else existed.

_You’re so supersonic._  
Wanna feel your power.  
Stun me with your laser.  
Your kiss is cosmic.  
Every move is magic.  
You’re from a whole ‘nother world,  
a different dimension.  
You open my eyes  
and I’m ready to go,  
lead me into the light. 

Harry joined me on the dance floor. He came up behind me. I leaned back against him and turned my head back. He covered my mouth with his, slid his hands down my body.

_Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me._  
Infect me with your loving.  
Fill me with your poison.  
Take me, ta-ta-take me.  
Wanna be your victim.  
Ready for abduction.  
Boy, you’re an alien,  
your touch so foreign.  
It’s supernatural.  
Extraterrestrial. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry breathed in a husky voice into my ear. Biting my grin back, I left him lead me out of the club and into the car. When we pulled away from the curb, he pulled me onto his lap. We hardly came up for air.

_I know a bar out in Mars_  
where they drivin’ spaceships instead of cars.  
Cop a Prada space suit ‘bout the stars.  
Gettin’ stupid high straight up out the jars. 

When we got back to Harry’s room at Clarence House, he kicked the door closed behind us, locked it, and we tumbled backwards into his bed.

_Pockets on Shrek,_  
rockets on deck.  
Tell me what’s next,  
alien sex.  
I’ma disrobe you,  
then I’ma probe you.  
See, I abducted you,  
so I tell you what to do,  
I tell you what to do,  
what to do,  
what to do. 

I straddled Harry, feeling everything down in every cell of my body out to the surface of my skin. I threw my head back, thrust my hips forward, opened my mouth to let it out.

_Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me._  
Infect me with your loving.  
Fill me with your poison.  
Take me, ta-ta-take me.  
Wanna be your victim.  
Ready for abduction.  
Boy, you’re an alien,  
your touch so foreign.  
It’s supernatural.  
Extraterrestrial. 

My back pressed up against the plush red carpet. I’d have a burn tomorrow.

_Extraterrestrial._

Against the cool tiled wall in the bathroom.

_Extraterrestrial._

A sweep of Harry’s arm, and then on the desk.

_Boy, you’re an alien,_  
your touch so foreign.  
It’s supernatural.  
Extraterrestrial. 

My body was covered in a sheen later of sweat. We collapsed onto the bed. Not saying anything, Harry lit up a cigarette and passed it to me. I took it and lay there before grinning stupidly. We both started to laugh.


	38. A Royal Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When I woke up, two things were very clear. The first was that my head was pounding, and the second was that I was going to throw up. Tearing the comforter off of me, I made a mad dash for the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, my stomach squeezed and I coughed bile into the toilet. A few more stomach heaves and I collapsed, pressing my face to the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The door opened slowly and I groaned, “No, don’t come in.”

Harry poked his head in and chuckled. “Oh, you poor thing,” he pitied me, joining me on the floor and running his fingers through my hair. “You should take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to get up,” I moaned.

Harry stood and reached out to me. “Come on, I’ll help you.” I stood up and leaned all of my body weight on him. He undressed me before turning on the water in the shower and undressing himself. Still holding onto me, he and I got into the shower. The steam enveloped us and the beads of hot water felt good on my back. I just stood there for a few minutes before Harry reached forward and squeezed some shampoo into his palm. Standing behind me, he massaged it into my hair.

“Blue jean baby,” he sang quietly into my ear. “L.A. lady. Seamstress for the band. Pretty eyed. Pirate smile. You’ll marry a music man. Ballerina, you must have seen her, dancing in the sand.” I smiled and leaned back against him. “And now she’s in me. Always with me. Tiny dancer in my hand.”

When we got out of the shower after Harry had serenaded me, I felt a lot better and told him he’d been right. “Told you so. I’ll call down for breakfast. You should eat something.”

“Ugh. I don’t know if I can keep it down,” I warned him. He assured me that I could and in a minute a man in a grey suit (Princess Diana used to refer to them as “the men in grey”) placed a tray of toast and coffee in my lap in bed. In Harry’s was a full English breakfast and a Bloody Mary. “How can you be drinking at a time like this?” I asked.

He smirked. “Best thing for a hangover – more booze,” he informed me. Rolling my eyes, I nibbled at my toast.

Harry had to go meet with his dad to talk about how the wedding had gone, and I wandered into Pippa’s room. Charlotte had left earlier that morning, but Bianca and the Yorks had also convened in Pippa’s room and the four of them were in the huge bed. With a groan, I joined them and they all sympathized, nursing their own hangovers. “It was the bloody tequila,” Beatrice insisted.

I agreed. “I _never_ do tequila shots and now I know why.”

Pippa flicked on the TV. “And now for the royal watching segment,” the anchor of the entertainment channel said. “Pippa and James Middleton were spotted at Boujis with Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie, as well as Prince Harry.” Frowning, I silently wondered why I wasn’t included in that list. Okay, so I wasn’t royalty, but I’d been there, too! “Club-goers say that Pippa and Prince Harry were seen canoodling in a booth all night.”

Pippa’s jaw dropped open and she immediately turned off the television. She turned to me and stammered out, “Roxy, I…we didn’t…there was no canoodling!”

“I know,” I told her. “What the hell?”

Bianca waved her hand. “They’re just bored with Roxy and Harry and are looking for a new story,” she assured us. “They’ll be done with it next week.”

With a huff, I collapsed back onto Pippa’s pillow. We watched trashy reality TV for a few hours, and every once in a while one of us would get up and sprint to the bathroom. “Do you believe,” I started once after Eugenie had crawled back into the bed with us, “that Harry woke up this morning and had a bloody Mary?”

Beatrice snickered. “I can. That boy has the tolerance of a horse.”

“It can’t be healthy,” Bianca insisted. “His liver is going to shrivel up and die.”

“It might just do that,” I agreed.

Pippa shook her head. “No way. This isn’t his first time around.”

Laughing, I asked, “You would know, what with all your canoodling.” The rest of us cackled and made fun of Pippa for stealing my boyfriend.

Harry was back in his room and called me to let me know. I trudged back and crawled into bed next to him. Bianca called me to tell me that she was leaving, and I told her I’d meet her tomorrow morning at school. I didn’t think my stomach could handle a car ride at the moment. Harry kissed my temple and we snuggled down into his bed, spooning. “I’m sorry you’re so ill,” he apologized. “I love you.”

“I puked in front of you,” I pointed out. “I hope you still love me after that.”

With a laugh, he told me, “I love you even _more_ after that.”

I yawned. “The news is saying you’re going out with Pippa.”

“What?” he asked, sitting up in bed.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a rumor. It’ll die down. Now lay back down and cuddle with me.” Harry obeyed.

***

By Monday, I still wasn’t completely over my hangover, and I groaned and grunted my way through conditioning and that afternoon’s workshop. Marcus laughed at my pain in our pas de deux workshop as he hauled me over his head. “Not so fast,” I whined, and he tried to comply without pissing off Madam. By the end of the day, Bianca and I fell back into our beds and passed out.

The hangover had not been fun, but I couldn’t deny that the going out part was…and the afterward, when Harry and I went back to his apartment. It wasn’t anything that Danielle Steele would write home about, but it was wild enough for me. I had been to nightclubs twice in my life, once when I’d met Harry and once after the wedding, so I didn’t exactly consider myself the kind of person who would have fun there. I definitely preferred spending nights in, but my experiences at clubs had gone pretty well thus far so maybe I just needed to get out of my comfort zone.

And…there was the other element of it to consider. Every time I wanted to cancel or turn down a night at Raffles or Mahiki or Chinawhite or Public or yes, very often Boujis, I would think about Bianca reminding me that Pippa was a bit of a wild card, of Pippa telling me about how she and Harry used to run around to these different clubs together, of the BBC royal watchers claiming that they’d been “canoodling” the night after the wedding, of Charlotte Casiraghi and her beautiful face. It wasn’t something I would admit to anyone, not even Bianca, but I’d seen how much fun Harry’d had at the wedding and Boujis, and I hated that I had started to question myself. I’d told Bianca that Harry had grown more tame, Pippa and Kate had said as much also, but…maybe that was just because he knew I preferred it. Maybe what he’d really wanted this whole time was to be himself, the Party Prince, and bring someone else along for the ride. Maybe I’d been selfish this whole time. And not only did I not mind it, but I liked that there were more and more pictures of us splashed all over the tabloids. It didn’t matter if Harry with Pippa or Charlotte made for a better story. The truth that I was with him was out there for all to see, and often.

Besides, it wasn’t like I was being irresponsible or unsafe. Everywhere we went, Paolo followed. I learned how to handle my drink and not overdo it. The usual gang was a steady rotation of Guy, Piers, the York sisters, Pippa, and Bianca. Around 1:00am we’d stumble back into cars to take us to KP. Maybe I wasn’t getting the best sleep in the world, but I was having fun. I was “having it all,” like I was supposed to be doing. I was in college, I was in love for the first time, and yes, occassionally I was drinking too much. But wasn’t that just a part of it? Of life, of the experience? 

The routine had continued for a few weeks when Bianca told me that she had to take a break. “I need a break,“ she sighed. “Actually, my liver and I need a break.” I didn’t like the look on her face as she gave me a slow once over and suggested, "Maybe you should consider a little break of your own?" The truth was that I wasn’t sure if she meant from partying, or from Harry, and I definitely didn’t want to ask.

Irritatingly enough, she had a slight point. Between the fatigue and the fact that I was often sweating out booze through my pores, my dancing was starting to get a little sloppy. Spring shop auditions _were_ coming up, but I reasoned with myself that I had plenty of time left and that I’d shape up before then. When I used this excuse on Bianca, she didn’t seem convinced.


	39. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After a particularly tiring Friday of conditioning, maths (my most hated academic class), and technique workshop, Harry called me up and asked if I wanted to go out that night. I bit down on my bottom lip. Part of the reason this Friday had been so tough was because I’d been out too late on Wednesday night and hadn’t caught up on my sleep. Wednesday’s weren’t exactly wild but Harry had recently declared them Whiskey Wednesdays, and I was starting to enjoy the occassional Glenlivet. “I don’t know…I’m pretty exhausted, and I have conditioning all morning tomorrow.”

“But it’s important! It’s Guy’s birthday! Come on,” he cajoled. 

I swore under my breath. Right, Guy’s birthday. We’d been discussing it earlier in the week. I shouldn’t have gone out on Wednesday if I knew I’d be going out on Friday, too. If I was going to pull off being the perfect girlfriend _and_ the perfect ballerina, I was going to have to get more organized. “Well, I can’t miss that,” I finally agreed. When I hung up, Bianca gave me suspicious glance. “What?”   
“You’re going out again tonight?” she raised an eyebrow. If she was trying to sound non-judgemental, it wasn’t working, although I sincerely doubted she was trying in the first place.

By way of explanation, I told her, “It’s Guy’s birthday!” She didn’t look convinced and for some reason I felt the compulsive need to keep justifying myself to her. “Come on, I’ll go for one drink and be back in an hour. It’s not a big deal.” 

***

I did not come back after an hour. One too many drinks into the night, I decided to relax and kept drinking. It was Guy’s birthday, after all. Besides, conditioning classes weren't even that hard. Next week I’d take a break from going out with everybody, but what was the point in stressing about it now? Yes, next week I would get back on track, give my liver a rest like Bianca had suggested. Besides, I couldn’t have been _that_ drunk because I was able to notice that Guy seemed sweaty and messy like he had at the polo match. It might be something to look into later, but that could wait for next week, too. 

I also wasn’t too drunk to set my alarm…but I somehow slept through it and I woke up Saturday morning with a gasp. “Oh my God,” I started, looking at the clock. “I was supposed to be awake half an hour ago!”

Harry called me a car and on the way to school I swept my hair up into a messy bun, knowing that Madam would make at least one comment about my sloppy appearance. I changed quickly in the dorm room, finding that Bianca had already headed into the studio. By the time I was dressed for class I had no time to wipe the make up from under my eyes and sprinted into the studio. Class had already started and I took my spot on the barre next to Bianca, sure that I still reaked of all the vodka I’d consumed last night. By the way her nose crinkled up and the fierce side-eye she gave me, I was right. 

“ _Miss_ DeLaSearle, this class starts on time,” Madam told me pointedly. 

“Sorry Madam!” I winced at both the reprimand and the shrill tone of her voice, which seemed to rattle around inside my skull.

Half-way through class, I was struggling to keep the contents of my stomach down as we got ready to go across the floor. Madam showed us the routine and I followed in a group of three. My cluster reached the middle of the floor and I prepped for a triple pirouette. For just one second, only an instant, I lost sight of myself in the mirror - I couldn't connect with my own eyes. Everything around me was a hazy blur and before I could even attempt to correct myself, to find my reflection, to make everything stop swirling in a giant, grey blob, I lost my balance, stumbled into one of the other girls, and hit the floor. Hard. 

It took me a minute to realize what had happened. My heart dropped lower and lower with every thought on how I’d gotten down here. I was exhausted and dehydrated and yes, maybe still a little bit drunk. My vision was blurry. I hadn’t been spotting. It was the _first thing_ you were taught as a ballerina. I could hear George’s voice in my ear when I was just a kid, urging me to turn in a circle and find my nose in the mirror. How? How could this have happened? How could I have done that? 

“Roxanna!” Madam called out. The piano player stopped and I felt myself get red and splotchy as all the other girls looked down at me. The room fell deadly silent. I stared at the floor for as long as I could until it was clear that Madam was waiting for me to look up at her.

I could hear every creak in the floor as I stood up and brushed myself off. “Madam, I am so sorry,” I started.

“Enough!” she shouted, again in that shrill tone that pierced my skull. All of the air was sucked out of the room. “You come in late, disheveled, _completely_ unprepared for class, and then you are not even able to dance the routine! You have made it perfectly clear that you do not respect this class, your fellow classmates, and me.”

“No, Madam, I do, it’s just that – “

She took a step toward me and in a low voice, kept scolding me. “I know where you were last night, Miss DeLaSearle. _Everyone_ knows where you were last night. Now get your things, and get out.” Knowing that I was about to burst into tears, I scurried over to the front of the room and grabbed my dance bag from the group of them against the mirrors. “And I suggest that you do not come back until you can join the rest of us,” Madam called after me.

***

When I knocked on Harry’s door at KP, he opened it with a curious look. “You’re here early.” 

Breaking down, I leaned into him and told him about the fall. “And now Madam is going to kick me out, and I won’t get to dance in spring shop,” I got out between sobs.

Harry chuckled and rubbed my back. “You’re not going to get kicked out. Everyone makes mistakes. It could have happened to anyone.”

“I haven’t fallen in class since the sixth grade!” I pointed out.

“Don’t worry. It happened. It’s over. The only thing you can do now is try to make it up to Madam.”

He was wrong. The words he was saying may have been the correct thing to say in any other different situation, any other mistake I had made, but not this one. I was at the RBA on a full scholarship, which could get revoked at more or less any time. I certainly wasn't going to be able to renew it if Madam thought my dnacing was deteriorating. Unlike all of those other times she'd scolded me for being seen out with Harry, for questioning my committment to ballet, this time I couldn't deny that she had a point. Of course she had a point. Maybe she'd always had one, maybe she'd known something like this was coming. Maybe everyone had...except for me. But hadn't I though? Hadn't even I been held back by something, something I couldn't figure out, something that just didn't feel...right? 

But I loved Harry. And he loved me. And wasn't that the important part in all this? Wasn't that supposed to be the whole point? "Love is all you need" and all of those stupid sayings - weren't they right? But...I loved dancing, too. I loved it when Madam praised me, when the other girls looked at me with envy, when I knew I was the best damn ballerina at the RBA despite the fact that I was American and awkward and always just a few pounds heavier than I should have been. I'd loved dancing since I was three, and I'd only loved Harry since January...

This wasn't something I wanted to think about right now. However much pain my head was in at the moment had nothing on the aching in my heart. My stomach was swirling like the stopper being taken out of the bathtub and my chest was shaking with every breath. For right now, I wanted to be safe in the crook of Harry's arm, on his mattress that felt like a cloud, in his room in an apartment in an actual palace. What problem could I possibly have had when I was here? What could I possibly be complaining - or even confused - about? 

So instead of saying anything, instead of revealing the fact that I was disappointed and confused and trying so hard to keep my head above water, I just leaned into him. “Can we not go back out tonight?” He nodded and kissed the top of my head. We got back into his bed and cuddled in front of the TV.

We were watching a TOWIE re-run when I remembered something that Madam had said and picked up my phone. _Everyone knows where you were last night_ , her words rang in my head. A quick Google search of my name pulled up the paparazzi pictures from Guy's birthday. There I was, smiling too big, my cheeks flushed from drinks and dancing, holding onto Harry as we fell into the car, his hand on my thigh and lips pressed against mine in a sloppy kiss as we pulled away from the curb. I didn't think it was possible for my heart to sink more, but it did. That was not a picture of the Swan Princess, or of the Sugarplum Fairy. That was a picture of a young, drunk girl who was in way over her head.   
***

On Sunday, I returned to the dorm to find that Bianca wasn’t there. I plopped down on my bed, still ashamed from yesterday’s spill. An hour later, Bianca came into the room from some extra practice in the studio. “Oh. You’re back,” she noted in a disapproving tone.

“Um…yeah, I’m back,” I repeated.

“Were you at Kensington?” she asked, taking her hair down.

“Yeah.” She didn’t say anything, just made a “hm” sound and turned her back to me. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Whipping back around, Bianca snapped, “It’s supposed to mean that I don’t understand why you would go back to KP and go out again after that humiliating fall.”

I glared at her. “Oh, I’m sorry the fall was so embarrassing for _you_ , Bianca. And we didn’t go out. What difference does it make to you?”   
“I can’t be worried about my friend making stupid decisions?” she asked.  
Her words hit me right in the chest, but I was determined not to let her see that. She couldn't know about the thoughts and the doubts I'd been having yesterday. No one could know, because that would mean that they were right, and I was wrong, and that I'd have to do something to change some element of my life as it was now and the more and more I thought about it the more and more obvious it became and I couldn't...it wasn't possible...

Instead of letting on to any of this, I rolled my eyes. “Please! I’ve been going out with my friends. I’m young. That’s what young people do.”

“That’s not what _you_ do,” she countered. 

“Well maybe it is now.”

“So I’m just supposed to accept that, apparently overnight, you’ve turned into Lindsay Lohan?”

“Wow, B. Exaggerate much?” I sarcastically asked.

“Not _that_ much," Bianca shot back. "You know I’m right, Roxy. You _fell over_. In _class_.”

As if I wasn’t fully aware of this already. “Yeah, I know, I was there. It’s not a big deal, Bianca, it was just a mistake. It could have happened to anyone,” I echoed Harry’s words back to her.

They worked about as well as when he'd said them to me, which was not at all. “Well it didn’t happen to anyone, did it? It happened to you. How can you say it’s not a big deal? When was the last time you fell in class?” Since the answer was during the first year I’d graduated from flat ballet to pointe, I couldn’t respond to Bianca’s question and stayed quiet. “See.”

“So, what, are you saying I have a drinking problem?” I asked, knowing that this was a ridiculous question.

Bianca rolled her eyes at me. “Roxy, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Uh, I actually have no idea what you’re saying.” 

From the look on Bianca's face, she knew I was lying. “I’m saying that you need to stop going out and getting drunk with your alcoholic boyfriend before you fall anymore and embarrass yourself, or Madam kicks you out of class for good.”

“You watch your mouth,” I warned her, pointing an accusing finger. “Harry is fine.”

“Yeah, because it’s completely normal to wake up after a night of bingeing and start drinking again,” she brought up the day after we’d gone out to Boujis after the wedding.

“He had a bloody Mary!”

“He had _three_!” Again, I couldn’t really argue with her. Even I had thought it odd that Harry was still drinking that day. “And he’s been hanging out with Guy more, and you know he’s on something.”

“I don’t know that,” I muttered, but it was a lame response. 

Bianca just let my statement speak for itself for a few minutes. In a calmer voice, she tried to explain more patiently. “Roxy, before you and Harry were together, you were always so worried about how your relationship would effect your dancing. Only back then, it wasn’t. Well, now it obviously is.” I wasn’t too keen on blaming Harry for my problems at school, and said as much to Bianca. She nodded. “I’m not saying it’s Harry’s fault. I’m just saying…maybe you two should take a break for a while.”

For all the joking Harry and I did about beheadings, I thought this might be kind of what it felt like. I'd already been leaning down, waiting for the final blow to be delivered. She wasn't telling me anything I hadn't been thinking (or alternately trying to avoid thinking) for the past two days. I lurched backwards a little bit, as though she'd hit me. "Bianca, I..." Clearing the fear out of my throat, I started again. "I love him."  
“I know you do,” she insisted. “But you used to love yourself more.” 

*** 

It would be an understatement to say that I tossed and turned all night. I was wide-awake, my feet shaking back and forth. How could I break up with Harry? He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. What was I supposed to do? Just be alone? What about the last time I’d ended things, and I’d been a complete mess? And if we _did_ break up, that meant that I couldn’t see Kate or Pippa anymore, and I didn’t want to lose those friendships. They were too important to me!

Maybe I could just talk to him about it. Maybe I could just explain that I couldn't go out with him any more, and that it was hurting my dancing. But then that would lead to a bigger conversation about Harry and who he was. He liked doing things like that, he liked letting off steam, he liked being in private clubs where cell phones weren't allowed and his best and most trusted friends created a ring of privacy around him and he could just be himself, if that's who he was. Could I stop him? Could I, in good conscious, ask him to stop being the person he was, to stop enjoying the things he enjoyed? And if I couldn't, if I just stopped going out with the group at all or even as much as I had been, who was to say that he wouldn't start realizing that there were other women out there who could? Women like Pippa and Charlotte and his other aristo friends who knew the rules and didn't have jobs or school to worry about, who didn't have embarrassing family backgrounds and unruly curls and loud laughs. Harry was who he was, and I'd been struggling for so long to keep up...what would happen if I didn't try to anymore? What would happen to us? And what would happen to me?  
Biting down on my bottom lip, I remembered the advice Kate had given me before she’d walked down the aisle. “He is not more important than you, and his feelings don’t matter more than yours do. And the _second_ you even _think_ that might be true, you have to get out.” 

Trying to sleep was pointless. I got out of bed. I pulled on my pink tights, my leotard, my leg warmers, and went into the studio. Light from the moon and the streetlights below cast my shadow across the floor as I danced in silence, doing triples over and over, executing them flawlessly, just to prove to myself that I could.


	40. Our Love Has Pastured A Mournful Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I didn’t tell Bianca that she was right. I was too stubborn to give her the satisfaction and I wasn’t in the mood to hear “I told you so.” Knowing that I would have to break things off with Harry, I wanted to do it sooner rather than later. I couldn’t spend any more time living with this heavy feeling of dread in my stomach. On Monday, I called him up and asked to come over that night. Not sensing that anything was wrong, he told me of course I could and sent a car for me. 

On the way over to KP, my heart raced and I was certain I was going to throw up. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but said nothing, which I was extremely grateful for. When I got to Harry’s apartment, I was relieved that Will and Kate weren’t there. After the wedding they’d spent most of their time in Wales. Harry and I headed into the living room and with a shakey breath, I said, “Harry…we have to talk.”

Harry’s smile faltered at this universally understood phrase. “All right. Sure. What’s up?” he asked, patting the couch next to him.

I sat and took both of his hands in both of mine. While I explained to him what I was thinking, I didn’t bother to try blinking back the tears that were already stinging my eyes – it would have been useless, anyway. “First of all, I need you to know that I love you, and you’re incredibly important to me.”

Not understanding where I was going, Harry’s eyes searched mine. It almost killed me when he said, “I feel the same way.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to go on. “But…dancing is also important to me. And it’s been important to me for sixteen years. And I can’t devote enough time to being the best dancer I can be and being your girlfriend. Not a good one, anyway.”

Shaking his head, Harry asked, “What are you talking about? Roxanna, you’re a wonderful girlfriend.”

“But I can’t keep up with you, Harry, and I don’t want to hold you back. If you want to go out and have late nights, you should, and I can’t do that with you anymore,” I told him.

“That’s absurd! We stay in all the time,” he countered.

“Not lately,” I pointed out. “And Pippa says that you two used to go out a lot, and – “

“Is this about Pippa?” Harry incorrectly assumed. “Because if it is, there’s _nothing_ between us, Roxy, I swear.”

I shook my head. “No, I know there’s not. It’s just that she made it seem like you two used to go out a lot, and I know you did, we met at a club,” I reminded him. “And we’ve been going out a lot, and it’s been fun, but I just…you should be able to do those things if you want to, Harry, but…” I let my voice trail off, not sure how I was supposed to say the next part.

Again, Harry searched my face. “What? There’s something else, something you’re not saying.” I just looked down, feeling my face, neck, and chest get hot and splotchy. “What, Roxanna? What else could there _possibly_ be?” 

Flicking my eyes up to his, I murmured, “There’s the fact that I’ve never seen you without a drink in your hand.”

Instantly, Harry pulled his hands away from mine and yanked his head back like I’d slapped him. “Well, I suppose I could point out that now is an exception to that ridiculous statement.” Harry said it like he had acid in his mouth. When I tried to respond, he kept talking. “That’s just a ludicrous assessment, Roxy, a total exaggeration.”

“Not that much of one,” I argued. “I can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand.”

“So what, you’re saying I’m an alcoholic?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “Maybe you are, and maybe you’re not. But that’s not the point. Maybe you just like to go out and have fun and be young and irresponsible, but I can’t afford to do that, Harry.” I didn’t feel confident that he understood, so I tried to impress the importance of this upon him. “I mean, I could lose my scholarship if Madam thinks my dancing starts to decline. And then what would I do?” Harry looked down and shook his head, and when he sniffed I was heartbroken to realize he was crying. 

If I wanted this conversation to get any more emotional, I would have told him the other part of why I had to do this. I would have reminded him that...I didn't belong here. I didn't belong in this palace. I was too American and too Spanish and too much of a Jersey girl. My family was too broken and my sister was too annoying and I had too much anxiety about more or less everything. I was too brunette, and too poor. I didn't belong here with him, on his arm, being seen out with him. I'd cheated the system for months but that could only last so long. He wasn't supposed to be with someone like me and deep down, we both knew it. But there was no point in making both of us more upset. I wanted to keep this as clinical as possible. 

I took his hands again. “If you don’t get anything from this, please just know that I love you so much, and I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t,” Harry whispered, pressing our foreheads together.

I kissed him and it tasted like tears. “Believe me, in two years, if this still feels right, I’ll come running back here. I will take out every Beefeater in my path.” Harry chuckled, even though his face looked like he was in pain. “I should go.”

“You should stay,” he corrected me.

I wiped the tears from my face with the back of one hand and stood up. Harry held onto my other hand, wiping off his own tears. He kissed my palm before letting go, and I left the room, and left KP for the last time.

***

When I got back to the room, Bianca looked up and saw my eyes rimmed with red. Without asking any questions, she got up from her desk and gave me a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Rox. It’ll be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will be.” 

I wanted to sob into her shoulder. I wanted to lean on my best friend and to feel her strength, helping me and understanding me. But I also hated her a little bit in that moment. I knew it was unfair, but I did. I hated her for being the one to voice my fears out loud. I hated her for being my executioner, for confirming what I'd already known was true. I pulled myself out of the hug, dabbed under my eyes with a tissue, changed into my pajamas, and opened my maths book, all the while avoiding Bianca's hurt gaze. _Good_ , I thought, _let her hurt_. It didn't seem fair that I had to be the only one.


	41. I'll Love You Another Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Explosions" by Ellie Goulding
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_You trembled like you’d seen a ghost,_   
_and I gave in._   
_I lack the things you need the most, you said,_   
_“Where have you been?”_

On Tuesday I called Kate. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey Rox. What’s up?”

I took in a deep, shaking breath. “I just…wanted to tell you,” I swallowed, trying to get the tears out of my voice. “I just wanted to tell you before you heard it from somewhere else. Harry and I…we broke up.”

Kate gasped. “What? Why?”

Giving up all hope of trying to disguise my crying, I asked, “Remember the third thing you told me? Before the wedding?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly.

“Well…I just had to break it off.”

“Oh, Roxy. I’m so sorry darling. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly through my tears.

“You will be,” she repeated Bianca’s assurances. “Just…promise me that we’ll still be friends?”

“Of course,” I promised. I wasn’t ready to lose my boyfriend and my friends.

_You wasted all that sweetness to run and hide._  
_I wonder why._  
_I remind you of the days you poured your heart into._  
_But you never tried._

After my conversation with Kate, I decided to break the news to Pippa, too. “Hey Rox.” 

“Hey, listen, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay,” Pippa said cautiously before asking, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“God, no,” I denied, and was relieved that she’d made me want to laugh, even if I couldn't quite muster it up yet. “I think Clarence House is going to put out a statement and I wanted you to hear it from me first. Harry and I broke up.” Bitterly, I resented those words. The truth was that I’d dumped him. It didn’t seem fair to make me seem like less of a monster than I was.

Pippa was quiet for a long pause. “Roxy, if this is about the rumors about us…”

“It’s not,” I promised her. “Believe me, it’s not.”

_I’ve fallen from grace,_  
_took a blow to my face._  
_I’ve loved and I’ve lost._  
_I’ve loved and I’ve lost._

“And in royal news today, this morning Clarence House put out a statement that Prince Harry and his girlfriend of about a year, Royal Ballet Academy student Roxanna DeLaSearle, have split up. There was no reason given, but one can assume that it has to do with the rumors circulating about the Prince and Pippa Middleton.” 

So that was it. It was really over.

_Explosions_  
_on the day you wake up_  
_needing somebody_  
_and you’ve learned_  
_it’s okay to be afraid._  
_But it will never be the same._  
_It will never be the same._

While Harry and William were away for work, Kate invited us over to have a Sex and the City marathon and eat copious amounts of ice cream – your classic break up cure. I dreaded the thought of going back to KP and all of the reminders it would hold of Harry. Perhaps picking up on this, Kate told us to come over to she and Will’s house in Anglesey. Surrounded by my girlfriends, I watched Carrie beg Mr. Big to tell her that she was the one, and I watched Big walk away from her. Without words, Pippa handed me the tissues. 

_You left my soul bleeding in the dark_  
_so you could be king._  
_The rules you set are still untold to me and I_  
_lost my faith in everything._

Madam held onto her grudge for weeks. I tried my hardest to win back her approval, but didn’t think I was doing a very good job. I knew that it was too much to ask of her to appreciate that I’d broken up with Harry. She didn’t care about that symbolic gesture at all. I’d made my bed. Now I had to lie in it.

_The nights you could cope,_  
_your intentions were gold._  
_But the mountains will shake._  
_I need to know I can still make_  
_explosions_  
_on the day you wake up_  
_needing somebody_  
_and you’ve learned_  
_it’s okay to be afraid._  
_But it will never be the same._

I was hunched over my history homework one night when Bianca cautiously asked, “Rox?”

“Yeah?” I muttered, not turning back to her. I acknowledged that it was completely irrational, but I was still pissed at her. If she hadn’t said anything then I never would have broken up with Harry. And I’d still be with him. And everything would be fine. Only it wouldn’t have. I knew that.

“I’m really proud of you.”

Looking back, I narrowed my eyes at her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Last time you and Harry split, you were really depressed and sleeping all the time and everything. And now I think…I just think you’re handling it really well.”

This meant absolutely nothing to me. In a flat voice, I just said, “Thanks,” and went back to my homework.

_And as the floods move in_  
_and your body starts to sink_  
_I was the last thing on your mind._  
_I know you better than you think._  
_‘Cause it’s simple, darling._  
_I gave you a warning._  
_Now everything you own is falling to the sky in pieces._  
_So watch them fall with you,_  
_in slow motion._  
_I pray that you find peace of mind_  
_and I’ll find you another time._  
_I’ll love you another time._

In the tabloids, on the internet, and on TV the rumors flared about Harry and Pippa. I knew it wasn’t true. Pictures surfaced of him in clubs with other women. Blonde women. Tall women. Thin women. Women with backgrounds where someone was Lord this or Lady that. Women who knew the rules. Women who had the time and the money to be the perfect girlfriend, the perfect princess-in-training. Perfectly un-Roxy-like. My heart tore into pieces. I stopped watching TV. I stopped going online. I danced.

_Explosions_  
_on the day you wake up_  
_needing somebody_  
_and you’ve learned_  
_it’s okay to be afraid._  
_But it will never be the same._


	42. Dance In Your Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

"So, I've been thinking," Bianca started one day while we were studying in our room in silence. We'd been doing it more and more lately, and it was unmistakeably awkward. It wasn't for lack of trying on Bianca's part - she'd comment on something good I did in classes or ask me if I wanted to go out to eat. I gave her one word answers, and sometimes it wasn't even a word, just a grunt of acknowledgement. Rationally, yes, I knew that I'd needed to break up with Harry, and I knew that, in time, I would be able to look back fondly on the relationship. But for now, I was still bitter, and pissed, and heartbroken. And, frankly, I was struggling to keep it together, to not burst into tears in the middle of technique classes, to not snap at Bianca every time she asked me some stupid fucking question about a topic I didn't give a shit about. 

In keeping with my usual practice these days, I just looked at her, waiting for her to tell me what she was talking about. When I didn't verbally reply, Bianca continued, "I thought maybe next year we could live off campus, get a flat somewhere."

Looking back down at my French textbook, I muttered, “I don’t know if I can afford that."  
“Sure you can,” she assured me. “Your scholarship money for cost of living doesn't have to be used to live here. Really, the cost comes out to about the same.” 

I scoffed. "That can't possibly be true."

Bianca, losing her patience, let out a sigh. "Okay well I've done the math, and it is."

"You must have done it wrong then. Imagine my surprise."

"Right," she nodded, apparently excepting this answer...or not. "Well when you're done being furious with me just because I was the first person to say out loud that you should break up with Harry, you let me know and we can revisit this conversation."

I was simultaneously even more pissed off that she didn't take my anger seriously, while also feeling guilty for doing it in the first place and then getting caught. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure."

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I went back to conjugating verbs in French. _Aimer; to love. J'aime; I love. Tu aimes; you love. Il/elle aime; he, she, it loves._ Finally, I took a deep breath and looked back across the room to Bianca. Her cheeks were flushed and she was blinking rapidly. Great. I'd made my best friend cry. "Well...maybe I was blaming you. Just a little."

She let out a deep breath and wiped under her eyes. "Well that was like pulling teeth." When I offered her a half smile, she asked, "So? Of campus housing? Not living on a postage stamp?" 

I looked around the room, the one Paolo had spent hours standing outside of, the one with the tiny bed that Harry and I had squeezed ourselves into, the one where I'd come back to Bianca, giggling and ready to tell her all about my dates, the one where I'd found Harry waiting for me, or later on, hanging out with Bianca until I came back from some extra practice time. It would be good to get out. This place was too haunted with memories.

"Sure," I nodded. "Could be nice."  
***

It was a little over a month before I was back in Madam’s good graces, and even to say that was a stretch. After one class, she asked me stay back, and I did. I gnawed on my bottom lip, curious as to what was coming and fearing that it was the worst. After all of the rest of the girls had left the studio, she turned to me. “I am glad to see that you have improved.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Madam.”

“Do not let me catch you slipping again, Roxanna,” she warned.

“I won’t,” I promised and, feeling like a huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders, I left the studio.

***

One afternoon, Kate called me up to tell me she’d be in town that weekend and asked if I’d meet her for lunch. I told her I would and, on Saturday after conditioning, I met her at a café outside of KP, one of our safe spaces. We chatted through salads and iced teas, updating each other on our lives since we weren’t seeing each other every weekend anymore. She told me about the engagements she’d be taking on. She and Will had a tour of Canada and the States coming up that she was excited for. I told her that I was earning back Madam’s trust and about me and Bianca’s planned move.

We were finishing up when Kate revealed, “Right, I have to confess something,” and pushed back her chair.

I took a sip of my iced tea and cleared my throat. “Um…okay. What?”

Sighing, Kate leaned forward a bit. “It’s about Harry.”

I wasn’t surprised. “Kate…”

“I _know_ you don’t want to hear about it, but…we’re worried about him.” I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest, allowing Kate to go on. “He’s been out partying, a lot. Mostly with Guy. He’ll come home at six in the morning, still drunk from the night before. He goes to bed, sleeps until the next night and wakes up and does it all over again.” When I didn’t say anything, Kate looked around us, like she was making sure there was no one else listening before scooting her chair in closer again. “The other night, he was drunk, and he told William that every day he wakes up, thinking ‘Oh thank God, Roxy breaking up with me was a nightmare,’ and then he remembers that it’s real.”

Kate politely looked away as I looked down and wiped away my tears with my napkin. “I can’t do anything about that, Kate,” I told her when I looked back up. “He’s just sad. He’ll get over it. Breakups are always hard. Besides, I see the tabloids, I know he’s…been out with other girls.”

“And have you noticed that they all look like you? They’re all small and have black hair." I was about to push back. I'd seen plenty of pictures of him out with tall, leggy blondes...but there were a fair share of ones who looked like me, too. I'd tried not to overthink it. "He calls them all Roxy,” Kate insisted. “They don’t mind because he’s Prince Harry and they’re nobodies, but he does it.”

“I can’t help that,” I repeated.

“Roxy, he’s with Guy. All the time.” Kate had mentioned that already, and it took me a minute to register why this was so important. I wasn’t the only one to notice that Guy had some questionable hobbies. If Harry was suddenly hanging out with him all the time, it wasn’t impossible that Guy was turning into a bad influence. 

“Well…do you know anything for sure?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Not for sure. I mean we haven’t seen anything. But he’s not acting normal.”

I still didn’t see the point. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Well maybe you can talk to him and see if there’s anything to worry about,” Kate suggested.

“This is exactly why I thought we should break up," I pointed out to her, thinking that she already should have known. "I have to get ready for finals, and for spring shop, and to move. I don’t have time to deal with this.”

“You can’t take five minutes to ring Harry?” Kate asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have to! He’s not my boyfriend anymore."

“You and I both know that just because that’s true doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.” I was silent, unable to reconcile my guilt about behaving selfishly, and my stubborn justification that I was right. “If you could just ring him up, it would make him feel a lot better.”

With a deep breath, I made a decision and shook my head. “I can’t do that, Kate. That’s not fair. I can’t call him so that he’ll be happy thinking that I might change my mind.” Kate sighed. “Look, I care about Harry, you know that. It’s just rough right now because we just broke up, but it’ll get better. He’ll be fine.” Kate wasn’t convinced, and I didn’t think I was, either.


	43. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Every audition that I had to participate in at the RBA was more severe than the last. The ante was upped for every performance. It had started with _Cinderella_ , then _The Nutcracker_ , and now spring shop. Spring shop was the most important because they could actually kick you out if you performed poorly enough. Madam had noticed that I was improving, but I knew that I was still on paper-thin ice. At any moment it could break and I’d go pummeling headfirst into...I didn't even know what. I didn’t think about what would happen if I got kicked out, because that snowballed into becoming a bum, wandering the streets of London, begging for change.

I was worried about performing poorly for the workshop audition, but I knew that my fears of expulsion weren’t wholly realistic. It was more likely that, if my audition didn’t go well, I’d be stuck in the back of the corps for the performance. Being in the corps was more or less a death sentence. In every ballerina’s guilty pleasure movie, _Center Stage_ , the protagonist told her instructors that she feared, “Being stuck in the back of the corps, waving a rose back and forth.” It was basically a ballet dancer’s worst nightmare.

On top of our spring shop auditions, we were both working endlessly on our academic classes. Most nights we had to decide between two choices – practicing more for our spring shop auditions or studying for academic exams. Of course, what we really wanted to be doing was sleeping, or at least watching some trashy TV. 

To be honest, at the end of the day when I collapsed into bed, I was almost glad that I’d broken things off with Harry. There was no way I could have fit him into my schedule, not like it was now. Or at least I tried to convince myself that I should feel that way.

***

“How did that look?” I asked Bianca. She and I were in an empty practice studio, rehearsing for spring shop auditions, about two weeks after my lunch with Kate. Our academic finals were all over, thank God. They hadn’t been fun. I wondered how students who went to college for real actually finished those things. It seemed like torture. 

“Better,” B encouraged me. “Let’s run through one more time. If we can get to sleep in an hour we can get six hours!” She sounded more excited about this than most people probably would have been, but the sad truth was that for the past week we’d been lucky to clock any sleeping time in at over four hours. 

We ran through the number again before pulling on our sweats and hitting the showers. After being on my toes all day, literally, getting into bed felt _so_ good. There was no way this was true but in that moment it felt like my bed was one of the puffy, luxurious ones at KP. I was _just_ about to drift off to sleep when the intercom buzzed. I sat up, disgruntled, and turned to Bianca, who was giving the intercom the same glare that I was. With a groan, I got out of bed and asked, “Yeah?”

“Miss DeLaSearle, you have a visitor,” the security agent told me. There were only about four or five of them who worked on rotation, and for some reason his voice sounded funny, too high-pitched or something.

“Well…it’s way past visiting hours,” I reminded him.

He was silent for a moment before admitting, “It’s His Royal Highness Prince Harry.”

I let out a huff into the speaker. “Tell him that I’m sleeping.”

“I’m afraid he insists upon seeing you, miss. And he’s...starting to cause quite a scene. It may be easier if you come down here and talk to him yourself.” He sounded embarrassed to tell me this, and I felt a flush rise to my face. Great.

“I’ll be right down.”  
“Roxy, don’t,” Bianca insisted as I put on my bathrobe. “Don’t go down there.”

“I have to, you heard him. He won’t go away, and the last thing I need is another reason to be in trouble with Madam, especially if he’s causing a ruckus it on campus,” I told her. “I’ll just tell him to go home.”

Bianca gave me a doubtful look, obviously not convinced that I was capable of simply sending him home. “Don’t let him suck you into anything.”

I was about to assure her that I wouldn’t, but I didn’t know if I could keep that promise, so instead I just gave her a hopeful look and closed the door behind me. When I got to the lobby, the desk agent pointed towards the door. Just outside of the gates were several members of the paparazzi. Just _inside_ the gates was a Range Rover. I could see the outline of Harry leaning against it, smoking. Trying to prepare myself, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It was springtime, and still a little chilly outside. A breeze blew and I wrapped my robe tighter around myself. “Harry.” He looked up and I stomped over to him. “Harry, what are you doing here?”

I knew that he was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure that he saw me. His eyes were glassy and he had purple bags under them. His smile was slow and crooked, and a little uneasy, like a scared animal. “Foxy Roxy,” he greeted me, then reached out, like he was going to place his hands on my hips. 

I swatted his arms away. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

“I came to get you to come back to me,” he told me. I stared at him, stunned. When he reached out for me this time, I was too shocked to move and make him stop. He pulled me into him and I could smell the booze and stale cigarettes on his breath. It was overwhelming. “I love you, Roxy. Don’t you love me?”

“Harry, don’t do this,” I pleaded with him. “You need to go home and go to bed.”

“Not without you,” he murmured. “Come on, come back with me. I miss you. It’ll be like the night after the wedding.”

Him alluding to the incredibly intense and frankly raunchy sex we'd had that night was exremely disturbing right now. My stomach clenched at the thought – the memory now made me sick. “We’re broken up. It’s not like that any more.”

“Who says?” he asked, obviously thinking he was being clever. 

“I say,” I reminded him, placing my hands firmly against his chest. 

Harry grabbed my wrists and I tried to yank them away. His grip tightened – I felt like he was crushing my bones and tendons together, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of crying out in pain. “Come back with me.” Now that I was closer to him, I could see the beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and his dilated pupils. 

“ _No_ , Harry,” I insisted more sternly. Again, I tried to tug my arms away from him, but he held on like it was nothing before maneuvering us so that I was pinned against the car. He held my wrists to my sides and against the SUV, also pinning me there by crushing his waist against mine. All of a sudden, I felt like a rabbit staring a wolf in the face. “Harry, stop this.”

“I could take you, you know,” he hissed, his teeth clenched, spittle landing on his lips. “I could make you come back with me, and no one would ever know. No one would ever believe you.”

All of the air left my chest. Two months ago we'd been so in love I couldn't think of anything but him, and now he was threatening to take me back to his apartment, against my will, and...and hurt me. That was all I could allow myself to think. The implication of what else - what other darker, sinister plans he had - was too horrible to bear. “Get _off_ of me,” I demanded, struggling to get away. It was no use. Harry was right, he could force me to go back with him, to whichever palace or estate he so chose. He could force me to do any number of things, because even drunk and strung out and sleep deprived, all of which he obviously was right now, he was still stronger than me. And who would believe me, after all of this? No one. Absolutely no one. Desperate, I finally looked up at him. “Harry, don’t do this.” Caught off guard by how helpless I seemed, his grip relaxed. I took the opportunity to shove him, hard. He stumbled backwards a few paces and looked at me, shocked. “What the _hell_ are you thinking?” I shouted. “What the _hell_ are you _doing_?”  
Harry shook his head. “I…I thought…”

“Go home, Harry. And don’t come back here.” Again, I wrapped my robe tighter around myself – it had come loose in the scuffle – and made to go back inside the lobby of the dorm building.

The desk agent looked at me and cautiously asked, “Everything okay, miss?”

I couldn’t answer, so I just forced out a smile and made my way back into the elevator. After a night of hardly any sleep, I woke up and checked the internet. There were several grainy photos of what had happened last night, me approaching Harry, him holding me against the car, and me walking away. Thankfully, the pictures weren’t close or focused enough to pick up on what had actually happened last night. It sort of just looked like we’d had a conversation, probably an argument. 

But I knew.   
He’d made it easy, at least. I put it - the whole it, the incident and the entire relationship - behind me. My life with Harry was over, and I didn’t regret it after that night, not one bit. He was spiraling down into some black hole and I didn’t want to be around for that.

Bianca and I auditioned for spring shop, and we both got parts as soloists. I almost couldn’t believe it, not after the fall. I wasn’t sure if Madam and Monsieur knew about what had transpired between Harry and I inside of the gates of the school, but if they did it didn’t seem to effect my dancing or my spring shop auditions. Getting back into dance felt good. I was doing what I knew how to do best, getting back into a routine I was familiar with. And I knew that, within a matter of months, my life with the royals would just be a memory, a story to tell someone one day, a chapter of my life that was very, very over.


	44. It Actually Can Get Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Bianca and I had scheduled the move for after spring shop. She’d found a cute little two-bedroom townhome in Notting Hill, and it was adorable. I wasn't sure how she'd found something in that neighborhood that I could actually afford, but I wasn't going to question a good thing. When we went to view it and sign the lease, I was relieved to feel that I'd started to get excited about something. That hadn’t happened in a really long time, maybe not since before the wedding. My mom and Grace called and I updated them on the status between Harry and I. I didn’t mention the fact that he was dealing with something far more serious than our break up. That wasn’t my business anymore.

We would get our actual grades for spring shop sometime during the summer break. Summer break for us wasn’t as long as it was in the States, but I was actually glad about this. If I had more time on my hands, I wasn't sure I wouldn't slip back into being depressed about the breakup, or starting to worry about whatever Harry was going through. Those emotions were being held at bay for the moment, especially since he'd threatened to harm me. I still couldn't think of it in harsher terms, to think of it in the way he'd undoubtedly meant it. It was just too much to even consider. I hadn't told anyone about what had happened, although I wasn't sure why. I just knew that it was unforgivable. Maybe a small part of me didn't want anyone else to be as disappointed in him as I was. Maybe a small part of me was protecting him.

Bianca and I ordered furniture to be delivered to our new apartment (or flat, as she kept calling it). Picking and choosing what we needed took my mind off of everything, and it wouldn't hurt that we were ordering cheap stuff that we'd have to assemble ourselves, which would require at least some amount of time and attention. Mostly I was excited to have a bed bigger than a matchbox. My mom warned me that moving always took longer than you thought it would, but I was sure it wouldn’t take much. After all, I didn’t have a lot of things in my dorm room at school. 

Bianca and I were able to squeeze in some packing between spring workshop rehearsals. I was tossing my clothes into a suitcase when I came upon the dresses I’d worn to the wedding. My fascinator fell off the shelf. My ballet slipper necklace from William appeared out of nowhere. All of the reminders of Harry were suddenly re-discovered. I sighed and Bianca asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I just…don’t like looking at this stuff.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Do you want to throw it away?”

I considered it before clutching the necklace in my palm. “No,” I shook my head. “No, it’s too special.”

Understanding, Bianca pushed a cardboard box she’d taped together over to my side of the room. “Put it all in here,” she advised. “You can go back and look at it any time you want. But for now, put it all in here.” So I tucked all of my royal reminders into a box, and hoped that I could tuck the past away in there with it.

***

My entire body ached as I crawled into my new, huge bed. I don’t know why I thought assembling, and then moving furniture into several different places, and carrying boxes all day wouldn’t be exhausting, but I had _not_ been prepared. Not to mention that I was probably still recovering from spring shop. I just wanted to get into bed and sleep for the next three days. Well, maybe I’d wake up to eat…and pee. But that was it.

Since I was so exhausted and wanted so badly to have an uninterrupted sleep, I shouldn’t have been surprised when my phone rang at two in the morning. Squinting in the dark, I fumbled around for it, looking to see who was guilty of calling me at this ungodly hour. When I saw it was Kate, I assumed it was an emergency. Kate wouldn’t call me at two in the morning for no reason. “Hello?” I mumbled groggily.

“Roxy, you have to come now.” Like the man at the front desk who had called up to tell me that Harry was outside, I hardly recognized Kate's voice. It was high pitched, wobbly, and frantic. Whatever it was, it was Harry.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“It’s Harry," she confirmed my gut feeling. "He’s…he’s out of control. I don’t know what happened, he came home and just started destroying everything.” She breathed heavily into the phone, like she’d been running somewhere, but I knew it was probably just fear. In the background I heard someone yelling, and then shattering glass. “I’m really scared Roxy.”

I looked at the clock and checked the time, trying to calculate how soon I could be there. “Where are you?” Kate told me the three of them were at KP and I threw my comforter off of me. “I’ll get a cab. Just hang on.” I changed into a pair of leggings, an oversized RBA t-shirt, a cardigan I couldn’t trace the origin of, and my sneakers before grabbing my purse and running out of the door. I didn’t even have time to write Bianca a note, but I figured I’d call her later and flagged a cab. “Kensington Palace,” I frantically requested.

“Sure thing, miss,” the cabbie agreed, recognizing me. “I thought you and Prince ‘arry was broken up?”

“We are,” I told him, watching out the window, wishing that it were possible to be travelling faster than we were. I didn’t even count the money that I threw in the driver’s seat when we got to KP and I jumped out of the car. I waved to the security guards, who nodded back as I ran around back to the apartments. After I’d been frantically knocking on the door for a second, Kate threw it open. “What’s going on?” I asked when she opened the door wider.

She was whiter than a sheet as she answered me, looking flustered. Her usually perfectly fashioned hair was stringy and flying away from her face. “I don’t know. Will and I have been listening at the door because he was starting to get…he was being violent. But he’s stopped now, we think.” She led me to Harry’s bedroom, where Will was waiting, his ear pressed to the door.

“Roxy, thank God you’re here,” he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was a difficult image to process, the future King of England needing someone else. “He’s been asking for you all night.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

William nodded. “That’s what started it. He came home and asked where you were of it I could go and get you, and I told him you weren’t here and that you weren't coming, and he just started…going mad. Breaking everything, tearing things apart. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Gulping, I looked at the door. There didn’t seem to be any noise coming from behind it now, but that didn’t stop me from being terrified. Taking a shaky breath, I raised my fist to the door and knocked. There was no answer and I knocked again. “Harry?” Nothing. “Harry, it’s Roxy. I’m coming in, okay?” When he didn’t answer, I looked to Will and Kate, who just shrugged. Slowly, I opened the door, trying to prepare myself for what was about to come next.

It was worse than I ever could have imagined. For a second, I didn’t even believe that it was true and not some nightmare I was having after a long and exhausting day. I just stood there; looking at what Harry had done to his bedroom. The thousand-year-old couches were ripped open. There was stuffing pouring out of the torn fabric. The bed was a mess, the covers either thrown around on the ground or twisted up on the mattress. There were clothes, empty bottles, and fast food bags littering every inch of floor space. The television was knocked on its side. The glass coffee table was completely shattered. When I finally took a step inside the room, the soles of my shoes crunched on the ground, either from broken glass, or filth, or both. 

Kate and Will followed behind me as I slowly made my way to the open bathroom door. It was like the suspenseful moment in a horror movie. My stomach twisted up in knots and I took a deep breath before walking into the bathroom.

“Oh my God,” I blurted out, running over to where Harry was leaning over the toilet, obviously passed out. His freckled skin was the color of paste. Even his freckles were pale. His lips were the same milky blue that I’d seen on corpses on TV shows. “Harry. Harry,” I shouted stupidly, wrapping him up in my arms and leaning him against me. He’d been sick all over the front of his button down shirt. One of his sleeves was rolled up halfway and there was a rubber tube wrapped around his bicep. My heart sank as I looked around the bathroom and found an empty needle on the floor next to the toilet. “I thought you said it was just booze,” I asked Will and Kate.

“We didn’t know,” Kate answered timidly. 

Luckily, Harry’s eyelids fluttered open. He stared up at me for a second before he spoke. “You again.”

I looked up at Will and Kate, who looked just as horrified and lost as I felt. “Yeah. Me, again,” I lamely responded.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered, shutting his eyes. “You’re always leaving.”

“No, Harry, I’m not leaving. I’m right here, okay?” When he didn’t answer, I shook him lightly. “Harry, you have to stay awake for me.”

“I’m tired,” he moaned.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed. Can you stand up?” Once we got him in bed I could call a doctor.

“Get off me,” Harry slurred, summoning some strength to half-heartedly push me away.

“Come on, Haz,” Will added, leaning down and placing Harry’s arm around his shoulders. It took the three of us to get him up and walk him over to his bed. 

When he was upright I noticed how much weight he had lost, how gaunt his cheekbones were. My heart wrenched as Harry flopped down on his bed. His eyes closed and his breathing came steadily as I untied his shoes. “We have to call a doctor,” I concluded.

Shaking his head, Will insisted, “We can’t.”

“William, look at him,” Kate gestured to Harry. “He needs help.”

“He doesn’t need Fleet Street finding out about this,” Will argued back. “Do you understand what will happen once they figure out what’s going on here?”

“Do you understand what will happen if we don’t get him help? He could die, William. He could die right now, right this very second,” Kate pointed out. It was true, not that any of us needed Kate to point it out to us. With her hair uncharacteristically out of place, her voice was cracking, and on the verge of tears, she sounded like she was getting hysterical. 

Before any of us could say anything back to that, Harry opened his eyes again and looked around at all of us. “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking at Kate. She didn’t have the chance to answer when he looked at Will and glared. Suddenly he wasn’t a weak, sick person on the verge of death. Rage flashed behind his blue eyes that I had never seen before and he sat straight up. “What are you doing here? Where’s my mother?” he shouted, lunging at Kate. “WHERE’S MY MOTHER?”

William and I reached for him as fast as we could, and Will used all his strength to force him back down. He and I were trying to hold him down on the bed as he thrashed, clawed, and screamed. Kate looked down at Harry, demanding his mother, and put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whispered, bursting into tears. 

“Take her out of here,” I told William, who gave me a stern look before obliging. I was sure he wasn’t used to someone else giving him orders.

Harry was ripping apart a bed sheet when his eyes opened wide and, out of nowhere, he vomited all over the bed. I patted his back as he violently coughed up bile and I don’t know what else. “That’s it, get it all out. It’s okay,” I soothed him, rubbing his back. When he was done, I threw the soiled sheet off the bed, unbuttoned his shirt, soaked a few hand towels in cold water, and placed one on his forehead and his chest, both of which were clammy and beaded with sweat. Harry was awake, watching silently as I did all this. When I reached up to press the cold towel to his face, he reached up to touch my wrist. “What?” I asked him.

Looking like he was in more pain than he’d been in all night, Harry got out, “Why didn’t you leave me?” I stared back at him, confused. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

“Because I love you and I don’t want you to die,” I answered as honestly as I possibly could.

Harry nodded, like he finally understood something. “I knew it wasn’t really you. Roxy doesn’t love me anymore.”

Taking his face in my hands, I forced him to look me in the eye. “Look at me. I’m the real Roxy, and I’m right here, and you’re going to be fine.” Before he could argue with me any more, Harry’s eyes fluttered back closed and his body went limp. I watched his chest rise and fall, then turned him on his side in case he vomited again. Assuming – maybe incorrectly – that he was safe for the moment, I got off the bed and went out in the hall. Will was holding Kate, but from the look on his face he wasn’t much comfort. They both looked scared, and they were right to be. I wouldn’t have thought it would be; if someone described something like this to me, I wouldn’t have said, “That must have been so scary.” But the three of us were all terrified.

“He needs a doctor,” I told them. “But I think Will’s right – that'll attract media attention.”

“What do we do?” Kate asked, sitting up straight and wiping the tears off her cheeks. Even Will was looking at me, waiting for an answer. How had I become the one in charge here? Wasn’t William legally bound to do this? Wasn’t there some sort of procedure? It suddenly dawned on me – none of that mattered. These weren’t royals. There were no rules. Someone we all loved was in trouble. There was no time for formalities. 

Somehow, the inner recesses of my subconscious crept forward. I'd come home from school one day to find my mom on the couch, crying in front of an Oprah episode. Addicts had been talking about how they'd cheated death, how they'd gotten clean and sober, and how they needed to make amends to everyone they'd harmed. They'd come from the best rehab center in the States called...oh, what was it called? Something sweet, something like...Hazelnut? “Oh, Hazelden," I suddenly offered, although out of context it made no sense. "There’s a clinic in the States. In Minnesota. It’s the best clinic in the U.S.,” I told them. “If we could get a doctor from over there to come here, that would be our best chance of getting Harry help.”

“So we're just going to keep Harry in here?” Will asked. “Don’t you think people will notice?”

“We’ll take him out to a store or a restaurant or something, every now and then, show that he’s alive and well. Then he’ll come back here for rehab.”

Looking skeptical, Will held a hand up. “Before we go any further in this, we’ll have to determine whether a doctor will even want to come do this for us. Should we tell him it’s Harry?”

“I don’t think so,” I told him. “Just, not at first. I should call. If you or Kate do, they might recognize your voice. When we know if there's even someone who will take a case here, then we can tell them who the patient is." Kate nodded and sniffled. Will picked up a phone and asked whoever was on the other line to get him a number for the Hazelden clinic in Minnesota. A minute later, a red-coated figure handed me a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

"Here, use my office," William offered, and led me down the hall a few feet, into a room with a big oak desk. There were papers on top that I tried not to look at, memos from heads of state and questions about he and Kate’s schedule. “Don’t worry, this line is secure,” he assured me. Neither of them made any signs of leaving the room, and it occurred to me that I desperately needed them to stay with me while I did this. Kate gave my hand a squeeze and I dialed.

I reached the Hazelden clinic and asked to be transferred to whoever was the director of the center. The receptionist told me that his name was Dr. Rosenblum, and warned me that he probably wouldn't answer. It was clear that she wanted me to leave a message, but I knew what would happen. I'd leave the message and she'd pass it off to someone else, or worse, Dr. Rosenblum would think calling from England was nonsense and toss the message in the trash. Despite her warning, I hoped against hope that he’d pick up. Weren't people who worked in this profession used to having late night calls? Thankfully, the doctor _did_ pick up, and he didn't sound surprised at all to be receiving a call this late. “Dr. R.”  
“Hi, Doctor. My name is…” I looked up at William and Kate, who shook their heads. My name wasn't exactly common, and there wasn't any need to tell him my name yet anyway. "I um...I have a friend who has a problem," I continued. If Dr. R thought it was strange that I was hesitating on my own name, he didn’t let on. I assumed that he’d had people trying to keep themselves anonymous before. “He’s sort of…a celebrity, and...and I was just wondering if maybe you made house calls, or could refer me to someone who did?”

Dr. Rosenblum sighed wearily. “Miss, if you - or your ‘friend’ - want to seek help for a substance abuse problem," he started, clearly an expert in the "asking for a friend" lie, "then the best way to get it is to come by the clinic and check yourselves in. One of the great things about rehabilitation is that it equalizes everyone, famous or not.”

“I know, I get that,” I told him. “You should know that we would compensate you for your time. We’d pay for your airfare, your living arrangements, whatever you'd need.”  
“How far away are we talking here, miss?” he asked, sounding more curious than like he was actually considering doing it. “If it’s a problem that severe that you’re willing to pay for all that then you certainly understand the seriousness of your situation. Or your friend’s,” he added as a doubtful afterthought.

Guessing that this was the moment of truth, I took a deep breath in preparation for what i was about to divulge. “Dr. Rosenblum, do you have a computer in your office?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly.

“Okay um...what I tell you next is going to be hard for you to believe, but it's all true, unfortunately. My name is Roxy DeLaSearle, and I’m standing in Prince William’s office with his wife, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge.”

There was silence on the other end. “Miss DeLaSearle, if this is some kind of prank, I’ll assure you…”

“It’s not. Google search my name and see what comes up,” I told him. I waited a minute, listening to the sounds of tapping computer keys. Dr. Rosenblum didn’t say anything, so I assumed he wasn’t convinced. “If you want to, when I’m done you can call this number back and you’ll see that it will direct you to Kensington Palace. I would normally never make a call like this, Doctor, but Prince Harry has developed a problem and it’s out of control. He nearly died tonight of a heroine overdose, and I don’t know what else he’s been on.” I took in a rattling breath, trying to keep the tears out of my voice. “I think…I think this situation needs to be handled delicately considering who Harry is.” Dr. Rosenblum still didn’t say anything, and I feared he was not being persuaded. My throat started to close up. “Dr. Rosenblum, I know how good your clinic is. I need…we need to help him some how and I…I can’t think of anything else.”

Sighing, Dr. Rosenblum finally answered. “I’ll come and see how bad the problem is, but if he doesn’t agree to my help, legally there’s nothing I can do.”

I reached back out for Kate’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. She gave me a weak smile. It was the worst kind of victory one could have, I supposed. “Thank you so much, Dr. Rosenblum. I’ll have someone from the Palace call you to set up a flight.”

“Does his father know?” Dr. Rosenblum asked just as I was about to put down the receiver. Swallowing, I shook my head, and even though he couldn’t see me, he got the message. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, and then I heard the click and the line went dead.

“Well…that went well,” Kate offered lamely.

I nodded. “Yeah. You should get some sleep.”

“Who can sleep right now?” Kate asked, wiping at her teary eyes. “How did this happen?”

My ex-boyfriend, who just happened to be a Prince of Wales, was near death in his bed from an overdose. One of my best friends, who just happened to be his sister-in-law, and at who’s extremely romantic wedding I'd had one of the best nights of my life, was blaming herself. Her husband, the future King of England, was also blaming himself, and for once he was asking someone else to make the decisions. He and Kate both were – they were relying on me. So was Harry. And I was relying on myself. I couldn’t allow anyone to find out. Not the press, not anyone else at Hazelden, and most of all not Harry’s father or grandmother. And I’d been afraid I’d be bored over summer vacation.


	45. August 31st, 1997

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_“Roxy. Roxy, wake up.”_

_Blinking my eyes open, I took in my surroundings. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. After a minute, I picked my head up off my mother’s floral print pillowcase. I’d had a bad dream last night and crawled in to her bed, which was why I wasn’t waking up in the top bunk above Grace. Instead, Grace was standing in front of me, whispering and shaking me awake. “What?” I asked, getting ready to roll over and make room for her in our mom’s bed._

_“Get up, something happened.”_

_My little girl's brain sprang to life. Were we in danger? Was there an earthquake? Was the ground going to open up and swallow us into_ Land of the Lost _? Without questioning Grace, I leapt out of bed and followed her down the creaky stairs to the living room. The sun was just coming up, and the only sounds I could hear from outside were the occasional passing cars. There were no loud explosions, and certainly no rumbling. If this was some sort of end-of-the-world scenario it was nothing like when it happened on TV._

_Grace gestured for me to follow her, which I was already doing. When we got down to the first floor I realized that the TV was on. Grace was prone to getting up early and watching cartoons until at least 7am. Mom told her not to wake anyone else up before then. This morning, though, I didn’t hear the tinkling background music that usually accompanied_ Tom  & Jerry _. Instead there was a man talking on the screen. “Are you watching the news?” I yawned, plopping down in front of the TV._

_“Yeah,” Grace answered, and then told me to be quiet and pay attention. I was about to remind her that she wasn't the boss of me when an image came up on the screen. An ambulance was racing…no, it wasn’t racing. It was actually driving slowly, but the lights and the sirens were on. Why wasn’t it going faster? The man on the news was trying to explain…“The ambulance tried to stabilize Diana on the way to the hospital.”_

_Finally, I understood why Grace had dragged me out of bed. “Princess Diana?” I asked, looking back at her. She nodded, solemnly. “Is she okay?” I pressed my nose up to the screen so it was practically touching the glass. My eyes had to cross to take in the images, first the ambulance, then a picture of what looked like a horrible car crash in a tunnel. It was kind of like the tunnel we took when we went into the City. Was she in New York?_

_“The Princess of Wales was pronounced dead at 5:07am.”_

_“What?” I asked, shouting at the man reading the news. “WHAT?” I turned around to see Grace’s reaction, but she was just sitting there quietly. Grace and I had spent hours watching Mom's VHS tape of the wedding, recreating Princess Diana’s dress using pillowcases, sheets, and sometimes towels. In art class, I would make myself a fake engagement ring, coloring a piece of paper with a blue crayon and gluing a yellow piece of construction paper together to make the band. It was sapphire, and my birthstone was sapphire. Looking down at my bare, kid-sized hands, I sat back down on the floor in the living room and started to cry._


	46. I'd Do It All For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Guns & Horses" by Ellie Goulding
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“So. You’re somebody very important then, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m just…I’m just…”

“Well you’re someone now. I’ll bet you’ll be on the front page of The Mirror tomorrow. It was lovely to meet you, Roxy the Ballerina.” 

Goose bumps, all the way up to my neck.

_You’re so quiet,_   
_but it doesn’t faze me._   
_You’re on time._   
_You move so fast, makes me feel lazy._

“Tiny Dancer” by Elton John played softly on a record player in the background. The record had been intended for someone who was long gone, someone much more important than me. I was spinning around, and around, and around, and then I was swept off my feet by a kiss. 

_Let’s join forces._   
_We’ve got our guns and horses._   
_I know you’ve been burned,_   
_but every fire is a lesson learned._

“And then she died that summer. She was just…gone. And I was so…angry. I was so angry. Because Gran and my Dad and William, they all got to be angry with her. And I never did. And then I felt guilty. Because how can you be angry at your dead mum?”

My heart ached. My chest actually hurt. “Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I let him take control. I let him tenderly kiss my mouth, roll me onto my back, lift my shirt over my head, kiss my stomach, unzip my jeans. I let him do it, and I wanted him to, because I wanted us to heal together. I love you, I thought as he kissed my neck. It was pure. It was uncomplicated. It was just a seed, deep down in the pit of my stomach. As much as you could split me open and find my lungs, my muscle, my heart, it was there, too. If I had to go into surgery the doctors would cut me open and find my love for Harry. I gripped the silk sheets in my hands, curled my toes, gasped.

_I left my house,_   
_left my clothes,_   
_door wide open._   
_Heaven knows_   
_you’re so worth it,_   
_you are._

“I’ve missed you, too, Roxy.” For the first time in my life, I was getting that feeling I got right before I went on stage, but it wasn’t because I was about to perform. My stomach swirled in quick circles and my heart started pounding in my ears. “If you’re going to come back here…I need to know what you want.”

Without thinking about it for another second, I pressed my mouth to his. His mouth was warm, and tasted so familiarly like whiskey and cigarettes, but was also a little sweet. It was just Harry. “Stay the night.”

“Harry, are you sure about this? I mean, if we do this…there’s no going back.”

“I’m counting on that.”

_But I wish I could feel it all for you._   
_I wish I could be it all for you._   
_If I could erase the pain_   
_maybe you’d feel the same._   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I would,_   
_I would,_   
_I would,_   
_I would._

Harry grinned back at me before wrapping on arm around my waist and taking my hand. He pressed his cheek gently against mine. His breath tickled my neck. Harry walked us forward with one foot. I pulled back and looked up at him curiously. He kept waltzing us around the wide hall. In my ear he started murmuring the lyrics to the song we were dancing to. “Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You had a busy day today.” 

_Let’s tie words_   
_‘cause they amount to nothing._   
_Play it down._   
_Pretend you can’t take what you’ve found._   
_But you found me_   
_on a screen you sit at permanently._

“Roxy. Please say something.”

“He has a new family. He married some…some woman in Texas. They have two daughters. This whole time I’ve been thinking that he didn’t want a family. And that’s why he left. But it wasn’t that. He just didn’t want us. Why did he leave us? What’s wrong with me?”

“ _Nothing_. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You are beautiful and kind and smart. There is _nothing_ wrong with you.”

_I left my house,_   
_left my clothes,_   
_door wide open,_   
_Heaven knows_   
_you’re so worth it._   
_You are._

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear it, or how you would react. After today, after watching you with my family, and my friends. You practically charmed my father into next week. And you were just lovely with Gran. The girls have been telling me all night how great they think you are. I know you were nervous about today. But you showed up, and you’ve really…you’ve really been here. For me. Roxanna. I love you. I…I’m in love with you.”

_But I wish I could feel it all for you._   
_I wish I could be it all for you._   
_If I could erase the pain,_   
_maybe you’d feel the same._   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I would,_   
_I would,_   
_I would,_   
_I would._

“First of all, I need you to know that I love you, and you’re incredibly important to me.”

“I feel the same way.”

“But…dancing is also important to me. And it’s been important to me for sixteen years. And I can’t devote enough time to being the best dancer I can be and being your girlfriend. Not a good one, anyway. But I can’t keep up with you, Harry, and I don’t want to hold you back. If you want to go out and have late nights, you should, and I can’t do that with you anymore. We’ve been going out a lot, and it’s been fun, but I just…you should be able to do those things if you want to, Harry, but…”

“What? There’s something else, something you’re not saying. What, Roxanna? What else could there possibly be?” 

“There’s the fact that I’ve never seen you without a drink in your hand.”

“So what, you’re saying I’m an alcoholic?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe you are, and maybe you’re not. But that’s not the point. Maybe you just like to go out and have fun and be young and irresponsible, but I can’t afford to do that, Harry. If you don’t get anything from this, please just know that I love you so much, and I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t.”

“Believe me, in two years, if this still feels right, I’ll come running back here. I should go.”

“You should stay.”

I wiped the tears from my face with the back of one hand and stood up. Harry held onto my other hand, wiping off his own tears. He kissed my palm before letting go, and I left the room, and left KP for the last time.

_It’s time to come clean_   
_and make sense of everything._   
_It’s time that we found out who we are._   
_‘Cause when I’m standing here in the dark_   
_I see your face in every star._

“Roxy, you have to come now. It’s Harry. He’s…he’s out of control. I don’t know what happened, he came home and just started destroying everything. I’m really scared Roxy.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Will and I have been listening at the door because he was starting to get…he was being violent. But he’s stopped now, we think.” 

“Roxy, thank God you’re here. He’s been asking for you all night. That’s what started it. He came home and asked for you, and I told him you weren’t here, and he just started…going mad. Breaking everything, tearing things apart. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Oh my God,” I ran over to where Harry was leaning over the toilet, obviously passed out. His freckled skin was the color of milk. Even his freckles were pale. “Harry. Harry!” One of his sleeves was rolled up halfway and there was a rubber tube wrapped around his bicep. My heart sank as I looked around the bathroom and found an empty needle on the floor next to the toilet. 

“You again.”

“Yeah. Me, again.”

“Leave me alone. You’re always leaving.”

“No, Harry, I’m not leaving. I’m right here, okay? Harry, you have to stay awake for me.”

“I’m tired.”

“Come on, let’s get you in bed. Can you stand up?”

“Get off me. What are you doing here?” Suddenly he wasn’t a weak, sick person on the verge of death. Rage flashed behind his blue eyes that I had never seen before and he sat straight up. “What are you doing here? Where’s my mother?” he shouted, lunging at Kate. “WHERE’S MY MOTHER?!”

_But I wish I could feel it all for you._   
_I wish I could be it all for you._   
_If I could erase the pain_   
_maybe you’d feel the same._   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I would._   
_I would._   
_I would._

I woke up with a gasp. Had it all been a nightmare? The break up, the call from Kate, the overdose? Looking around the room, I realized it hadn’t been a dream – I was in KP, and what had just happened it was entirely and heartbreakingly real.

It was early in the morning. The sky was grey. I got out of bed and, in the big, chilly bedroom, changed into a pair of running pants, put on trainers and an oversized t-shirt on top of an athletic bra. I opened the door to the apartment and jogged to Kensington Gardens.

A paparazzo in the shrubbery snapped a photo of me. I ignored it and kept running. I had to keep running, I had to keep going, I had to block out the frantic thoughts in my head, because if I gave into them…I didn’t know what would happen.

_I’d do it all for you,_   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I’d do it all for you,_   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I’d do it all for you,_   
_I’d do it all for you._   
_I’d do it all for you,_   
_I’d do it all for you._


	47. The Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The second hand moving on a clock and the tapping of footsteps were things that usually didn’t sound so loud, but every time the pendulum swung back and forth, the clicking sound it made was like someone punching me in the forehead. When the heel of William’s ridiculously expensive shoes hit the hardwood floors, it may as well have been a clap of thunder. Checking his watch, William muttered, “Where is he? His flight landed…” Kate and I looked at him expectantly. He finished with a sheepish, “Two minutes ago.” We all managed to get out amused, albeit nervous, smiles. 

“William, stop pacing,” Kate told him.

“Just a moment,” he held a finger up to her, pivoting, and pacing across the same span of the room that he’d just been walking over. He’d been doing it for a while. They’d had this exchange at least five times. We’d all just been sitting in one of the Palace rooms, unable to sleep, ordering tea that went cold when no one would touch it, jumping at the slightest sound of a clicking doorknob. Will kept on pacing and I kept on sitting and Kate kept on bouncing her knee up and down, jiggling her foot, adjusting her jewelry. Several minutes later, a red-coated man walked in. We all sat up straighter, sucking in our breaths in anticipation. “Your Royal Highness,” he bowed to William. “Your Royal Highness,” he bowed to Kate, and then, looking at me like a slug he addressed me, “Miss DeLaSearle.“ At a time like this he still had time to be snobby, apparently. I thought of how the doctor had told me that addictions and recovery equalized people. Well, he may just have met his match at Kensington. “There is a Dr. Rosenblum to see you.”

“Send him in please,” William instructed the man, who bowed to him, bowed to Kate again, and sneered at me before leaving the room. 

The door opened and the same red-coated man introduced Dr. Rosenblum to, “His Royal Highness Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, Her Royal Highness Catherine Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, and Miss Roxanna DeLaSearle.” I could hear him holding back the vomit as he introduced me. I offered the doctor a smile. He didn’t look like I’d imagined him, with a beard and glasses and a sweater vest. (Okay so basically like Robin Williams in _Good Will Hunting_.) Instead he was wearing a pair of jeans that he might have bought in 1997, a Harvard Medical School sweatshirt that had clearly seen better days, white socks under brown, beaten up loafers. His hair was streaked with white at the temples. He did have a beard, but it was just a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Dr. Rosenblum was obviously a hard-working man in an important field, but his informality made me feel comfortable telling him what was going on, which was probably his intent. 

“You don’t have to address us like that,” William said as soon as the man had left us. “Protocol has been thrown by the wayside, I’m afraid.”

“Things like that happen at times like these,” Dr. Rosenblum offered. “William, I’m not sure if Roxanna here told you, but if your brother doesn’t want to accept my help then, legally, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Really?” William asked. “Isn’t there some way to make him go through treatment?”

Shrugging, Dr. Rosenblum gave Will the options. “He could get a 72 hour mandatory stay in a hospital, but he could just leave after that if he wanted to. And of course, you could take him to court, but I don’t think you’d want to do that.”

William shook his head. “No, of course. Well…cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?”

“Sure,” Dr. Rosenblum agreed. “Now, where is the identified patient?” The three of us started blankly at him. Which a little chuckle he said to William, “Your brother.”

“Oh. Right. Down this way,” he said, and gestured down the hall towards Harry’s room. 

William and Kate led the way and Dr. Rosenblum lagged behind, just one or two paces, with me. “Her Royal Highness This, His Royal Highness That. Don’t you find any of this ridiculous?” Dr. Rosenblum asked me in a whisper.

“No, I find _all_ of this ridiculous,” I admitted to him. 

We reached Harry’s room and Dr. Roseblum started to make sure he was breathing and to check his pulse. “We found this in the bathroom,” I told him, showing him the needle I’d placed on Harry’s bedside table. 

“That would be heroin,” he confirmed after glancing at it. “See this? Those are track marks. Usually a dead give away to heroin use,” he explained, gesturing to the purple bruises like ripening plums under Harry’s arms. “Who hooked up this I.V.?”

“An in house doctor,” William explained. “They do it sometimes when he’s had too much to drink.”

Dr. Rosenblum nodded. “Good. How long has he been asleep?”

“Since before we called you,” Kate answered. “He…I think he was hallucinating. He attacked us,” she added softly, looking down like she was afraid of betraying Harry. It wasn’t necessarily fair to say that he’d attacked us, when he’d only really lunged at Kate. That was what had happened - he’d cried out for his mother and, enraged that Kate was there instead, had taken it out on her. My heart was too full of worry to break at this.

He nodded at her again. “That’s a common symptom of someone on drugs. Mood swings, random violence. It’s actually a good thing that he’s been vomiting. It means his body is rejecting the drugs and, quite frankly, the poison he’s put in to it.” With a sigh, he looked at all of us. “It looks like you all handled this as best as you could.”

It was just a little relieving to hear that. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“I’ll get someone to show you to your room. We’ll call you when he wakes up,” William offered. 

When he and the doctor left the room, I offered to stay with Harry while Kate got some sleep. She stared at me blankly and I rested my hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be okay for tonight,” I squeezed her arm.

“And tomorrow night?” she asked in an empty voice.

I didn’t answer, but eventually she gave me a small hug back and left the room. I pulled up a chair next to Harry’s bed and sat down in it, feeling like some WWII era nurse staying by the bedside of some lonely soldier until he passed, as per his last request. Annoyed that Harry had put me in such an anti-feminist position, I glared at him until I fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

I woke up several times during the night, or early morning. By six, the sky had turned a lighter shade of grey and I figured it was useless to try and get any more sleep. Just to have something to do, I got up and brushed my teeth with my finger, splashed cold water on my face, and started to try and pick up Harry’s room. I was picking up all of the stuffing that had been torn out of cushions when I heard the bed rustle and a grumble of, “Bloody hell.”

“Good morning,” I greeted him, walking back over to his bed. Without looking at me, or responding to me in any way, Harry immediately reached for his bedside table, groping around in the drawer. It had held a collection of orange bottles, which I’d discovered in my cleaning and immediately dumped in the toilet. “If you’re looking for those pills, I flushed them.” 

Harry looked at me and blinked. “What? Why?”

Rolling my eyes, I decided to change the subject. He didn’t even want to know what I was doing in his bedroom, or why it looked like there had just been a severe earthquake. All he cared about were the pills. “Do you want breakfast?” I asked him, already reaching for the phone next to his bed. “You should eat something.”

“No, I don’t want anything to fucking eat,” he snapped. “I need something to kill this fucking headache. And what the fuck is this?” he asked, apparently just noticing that he had an I.V. needle in his hand. 

I dialed out to the kitchen and whoever was down there answered, “Your Royal Highness?”

“It’s just me,” I corrected him. “Can you send up two English breakfasts? And tea. Thanks.” My mouth started to water at the thought of eggs and roasted tomatoes. It was the first time I’d had a thought that wasn’t about Harry in almost 24 hours. Realizing this, I took a deep breath before looking back down at him. Harry just stared back at me, waiting for me to give him the explanation he clearly thought he was entitled to. _Little brat_ , I thought, and then instantly felt gut-wrenchingly guilty for it. I decided to let him wait a little longer, and we both stayed silent until breakfast was delivered. If the man who brought it to us was shocked by the appearance of Harry’s room, he didn’t let on. Instead, he left the breakfast on Harry’s bed and exited the room as quickly as possible. Harry snarled at him, and then at me, and I tried to ignore it and eat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Reluctantly, Harry reached forward and took a bite of deep-fried toast. Ah, English breakfast, the key to all hangovers, and if I ventured to guess, Harry probably had the king of all hangovers right about now. After about two bites, Harry leaned over and projectile vomited over the side of the bed, narrowly missing me by inches. When he was finished retching, he looked at me. “I told you I didn’t want to eat.”

“Well, since that just killed my appetite,” I muttered, again reaching over to the phone and dialing William’s room. “He’s awake,” I told him.

Harry sat up straighter. “Who are you talking to?”

“Your brother,” I said, hanging up the phone. “Is that all right with you, Your Royal Highness?” I gave an exaggerated curtsey.

“No actually, it fucking isn’t,” he snapped, right as the door opened and Will, Kate, and Dr. Rosenblum walked in. It didn’t look like any of them had gotten even a minute of sleep. 

“Well, too late,” I said to Harry as the three of them surrounded his bed.

Confused, Harry barked at Dr. Rosenblum, “Who the fuck are you?”

William responded before Dr. Rosenblum could. “You clearly have no idea what happened last night, so I’ll remind you. You went on some sort of bender, and after tearing apart your entire room, you passed out. Catherine and I were so worried that we called Roxanna, who came here and tried to put you to bed. You woke up, attacked Catherine, and vomited before passing out again. Roxanna then decided that it was the best course of action to call Dr. Rosenblum, who is from Minnesota, and runs a rehab center.” He paused briefly. “Do you remember any of that?”

“Bugger off,” was Harry’s mature and intelligent reaction.

William scoffed and Dr. Rosenblum picked up the ball. “Why don’t you tell Harry how it makes each of you feel when he’s high?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a fucking intervention,” he decided, and then roared, “I’m a Prince of bloody Wales!”

Dr. Rosenblum’s eyebrows rose. “Is a Prince of Wales immune to drug addiction?”

“No, he’s just immune to everything fucking else,” William pointed out. I flinched, sure that I’d never heard him swear before. “He knows that if he doesn’t quit, nothing will happen to him. He knows I’m not going to tell the press, and he’s going to keep on doing what he wants.”

Dr. Rosenblum looked from William to Harry, who had his arms crossed over his chest, a smug smile on his face. I curled my hand into a fist to keep myself from slapping him. “Can anyone think of a consequence that Harry will suffer if he doesn’t change?”

We were all silent. I couldn’t think of any. There would be no consequences. As angry as William may get, he wouldn’t want to disgrace his family by telling anyone else about the drugs. If the press hadn’t caught on that there was something seriously wrong by now, then there was a good chance they wouldn’t for quite some time. Even if they _did_ find out, and all of the royals were humiliated, Harry still wouldn’t have to change his ways. They couldn’t write him out or cut him off, or at least realistically they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have to change, and he wouldn’t have to care. 

Before anyone could offer up any ideas for consequences, William spat, “You spoiled _brat_.”

“Oh, sod off Will, nobody cares. You’re the ‘good one’ and I’m the spare. Who gives a toss?” Harry waved his hands in the air like he was waving away anything William said. “‘Oh, poor William, he’s so young and in the public eye.’ ‘Oh, poor William, he lost his mother.’ ‘Oh, poor William, he’s got so much responsibility.’ Well you’re not the only one who has responsibility. You’re not the only one whose mother died!”

“You’re not either.” With how angry William sounded, he may as well have been punching Harry in the face.

I sucked in a deep breath and looked at Dr. Rosenblum. “Harry, everyone in the world knows that you lost your mother, and everyone in this room feels terrible about that. But there are plenty of people who have gone through traumatic experiences and wake up every day and get through it without the help of drugs and alcohol, not just your brother. Now, no one in this room can make you get help. If you don’t want to do it, then we can’t change that. But I think you should give it some serious consideration.”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no reason for me to do that.”

“You can’t think of one reason that you should stop abusing drugs and alcohol?” Dr. Rosenblum asked him.

We were all silent again. Crossing my arms over my chest, I looked down. I was going to leave here and never see any of the people in this room again. Eventually Harry’s drug abuse would get out to the press. He would become a laughing stock of England, the Paris Hilton of London. It wasn’t impossible that his grandmother would cut him off, take away his HRH, force him to abdicate. He could end up poor, on the streets, or more likely killed. But nothing was going to change right now. It had been so stupid and naïve of me to think that getting a doctor I’d seen on _Oprah_ would be enough to make him want to quit.

Out of the silence, William asked, “What do you think I would do?” We all looked up at him. 

“What do you mean, William?” Dr. Rosenblum asked.

Slowly, William continued this line of questioning. He was clearly talking at the same time as he was thinking. “What do you think I would do? After…after everything that happened with Mum, if you died, what do you think would happen? Do you think I’d just be able to go on living my life, watching everyone around me die? Do you think Dad would, or Gran? What do you think would happen, Harry?” He paused, took a deep breath, and then, sounding more exhausted than I’d ever heard anyone, he finally asked, “Haven’t we had enough?”

Harry just sat there, arms crossed over his chest. Dr. Rosenblum sighed. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here until tomorrow,” he offered, and gestured for the four of us to leave the room. 

The door shut with a soft click behind us. Turning to Dr. Rosenblum, I shook my head. “I’m so sorry to have wasted your time.”

Dr. R offered me a kind smile. “It wasn’t a waste. He may not be ready to change now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll never be ready.” This didn’t make me feel better at all. We couldn’t wait for some vague time in the future for Harry to be ready to get help. He had to do it now, before it was too late.


	48. No More Mr. Nice Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After Harry’s failed intervention, I headed back to the blue room. I hadn’t slept since Kate had called me in the middle of the night two days ago, and I didn’t think I could make it back to the apartment without going into a coma. I passed out in the huge bed I’d last used before the holidays, still in all of my clothes. It felt like I had just shut my eyes when the phone let out a shrill ring. Groaning, I picked up the receiver and barked, “What?!” to whomever had just ruined my slumber.

“Roxy. It’s William.” I had no idea why he always felt the need to identify himself. He had a very distinct voice. Besides, who else would be calling me right now?

“Hey.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” I asked, because he wouldn’t be calling me if everything were A-OK. If everything were A-OK, I wouldn’t be here. 

William cleared his throat. “Guy is outside. He says…he says Harry called him.”

My brain processed this information with surprising speed. This was a drug deal. Harry was dry, and he’d called Guy to deliver. After he’d been found on Death’s door on the bathroom floor, covered in his own vomit. After he’d lunged at Kate, going for the jugular. After we’d called the best doctor money could buy, flown him across an ocean, held an intervention. He still wanted more. Well, I’d be damned before I let that happen. “I’m coming.”  
Immediately, I slammed down the phone and jumped out of bed. I didn’t have time to be disappointed, or sick, which was how I felt. I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept, but I wanted to brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face, even though I was just opening the front door and telling a cracked-out Guy to fuck off. I hadn’t looked in a mirror in days. I probably should have, but I hadn’t, and when I was brushing my teeth I knew the reason why. There were purple half-moons blooming under my eyes. My skin was like wax paper. My hair was greasy, the black roots resembling an oil slick. And I _still_ looked better than Harry. I was practically Gisele by comparison.

When I reached the front door, an obviously strung-out Guy was trying to force his way into the apartment, past Will and Kate. With a stinging feeling in my heart, I remembered all the times Guy, Harry, and I had laughed together. He’d been there the night Harry and I had first met. How had everything gone so wrong, in what felt like the blink of an eye?

“Just lemme in!” Guy was slurring. “He called me! He called me to come here.”

“Guy,” I snapped. He stopped trying to push the Cambridges out of the way and looked past them at me. Well, he looked in my general direction. His eyes weren’t really focusing on anything. 

“Foxy Roxy,” he pointed to me, staggering in the doorframe. “This is all your fault, you know that, don’t you?”

He could have said any other combination of words in the English language, but he didn’t, and since I’d been reacting before thinking about pretty much everything lately, I reacted to this in exactly the same way. I took two quick, broad strides over to Guy and gave him a hard shove. He stumbled backwards, rolling down the steps in front of the apartment. Kate gasped. William just watched. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t tell me to stop. When Guy finally got up, he brushed himself off and swayed in his place for a moment, trying to look at me. “You stay away from here.”

“Fuck you, Roxy,” he spat at me.

William was down the front steps in three seconds flat. Before my eyes could register what was going on, he’d drawn an arm back, made a fist, and punched Guy in the face – once, twice. Again, Guy went tumbling backwards, groaning in pain. William grabbed Guy by the lapels of his wrinkled jacket (that he'd probably been wearing since at least last night), standing him upright. “You stay the fuck away from us, Guy. Do you understand me? I’m the future King of England and I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from me and my brother. Do you fucking understand what I’m saying?”

Guy tried desperately to break out of William’s grip, but he couldn’t. Eventually, William tossed Guy away from him before turning on him and going back inside the apartment. Kate followed. I stayed out a moment longer, watching Guy looking lost there in the middle of the street between Harry’s apartment and his father’s. I watched Harry’s best friend since childhood going through the same awful, horrible illness that Harry was going through as well. I watched him hit rock bottom right in front of me, the same way Harry was. And I wasn’t mad at him anymore, not enraged, like I’d been a moment ago. 

To my surprise, I pitied him. 

*** 

The upset with Guy was shocking, but I still felt like I could go right back to sleep afterwards. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t have it in me to emotionally process this right now. I just wanted to go to bed, and I only had to get from the front door to the bedroom. It was a matter of only a few feet, it shouldn’t have been a difficult task to accomplish, but I still held my breath and tip toed to my room, like if someone heard me they may have interrupted my plans for the deepest sleep since Princess Aurora. The relief I felt when I got back under the comforter was unparalleled, but I only had time to feel it for a minute before I was back into that sweet, delicious slumber…

“RAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!”

I sat straight up in bed, clutching my hand to my chest. 

“RAAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Harry. He’s on heroin. I had to remind myself of what was going on before jumping back out of bed. 

“What’s going on?” Kate asked, wrapping her bathrobe around her as she came out into the hall. It occurred to me that, given what she was wearing, it must have been night time. I hadn't even had time to look at a clock or take an educated guess, I'd been awoken so abruptly.

“I don’t know,” I threw over my shoulder, rushing past her and into Harry’s room.

It was like an exorcist movie. He was writhing and twisting his body into impossible contortions on the bed, clutching his ripped sheets in his fists. He’d been sweating so much, his bed was soaked. Afraid he'd go into a seizure, I rushed to his side. “Harry," I tried to shake him, to shake out whatever was possessing him right now. "Harry, you have to stop.” Where was the doctor? Hadn’t he heard Harry’s screaming? And what time was it? What day was it?

Harry clutched my wrist so hard I thought he was going to crush the bones. When he looked up at me, I knew it was an accident. He hadn't meant to make eye contact with me, and it seemed only to exacerbate the pain he was in. Wincing, I tried to pull away from his grasp, but his grip only tightened. “Did I miss it?” he asked through clenched teeth. It seemed like some invisible men had him tied down to a medieval torture device. He was white with pain, his forehead covered in plump droplets of sweat. “The wedding? Have I missed it?”

For a second, I thought, _What wedding?_ Then I realized that he was talking about Will and Kate’s. He couldn’t remember that he’d been the best man at his brother’s wedding. He couldn’t remember that we’d danced to _One and Only_ by Adele, that he’d told me he loved me. He couldn’t remember any of it. “No, Harry, you didn’t miss it. We were there. Remember?” I asked gently. 

He just shook his head and kept asking, “Did I miss it? Have I missed it?” While he was muttering to himself, I went to get a damp cloth like I had the other night. I was pressing it to his chest and forehead when he started to shiver. I didn’t know if it was the cold cloth that was working or what, but eventually he stopped writhing in pain and was able to take several deep breaths. After a minute of heavy breathing, he blinked up at me and swallowed, looking like it hurt. “Of course. Of course, I remember now. You wore a silver dress.”

The lump in my throat nearly choked me. I rubbed my eyes one at a time and nodded. “Yeah. For the reception. I wore a silver dress.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he gagged. I knew he was about to throw up, so I yanked him off the bed and tried to push him into the bathroom with as much speed as he could muster. It wasn’t much. He kept dry-heaving until we reached the toilet. It wasn’t projectile vomit like before. Now, it was just thin, yellow strands of bile that clung to his lips until he coughed them off. With every heave, every wretch, he squeezed my hand tighter. I could feel my bones and tendons crunching together, but I didn’t let on that he was hurting me. 

Finally, Harry sat back, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, I saw that he’d burst blood vessels in his eyes. The whites had turned bright red, like someone had stuck them with pins. He looked like something out of a horror movie. When he finally spoke up, I almost didn’t know if he meant to, or if it was by accident, or if he was just mumbling in his sleep. “D’you think…” He took a deep breath. “I have to…” Another breath. “The doctor…”

He wasn’t saying much, but I knew he was asking me if I thought he should take the doctor’s offer. “I…I can’t say, Harry.” If I told him my opinion, he might get help for the wrong reasons, which would be just as bad as not getting any help at all.

“If I do,” he coughed through his purple, cracked lips. With another, softer, squeeze of my hand, he asked, “Will you stay? Not forever. And it doesn’t have to be like it was. Just…if I do this, could you please just stay tonight?”

If I said yes, would he get clean because I said yes? Would the doctor approve if I said yes? Were we co-dependant? Was that unhealthy? Should I say I’d stay? Should I leave? Should I tell him I couldn’t answer? It probably wasn’t the best mentality, but I didn’t really care about any of that stuff. I wanted Harry to be healthy. I lifted his palm to my mouth. “Of course I will,” I murmured into him. “Of course I’ll stay tonight.” 

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed. “Thk…nnn…”

I assumed that was meant to be “thank you.” I pressed another damp cloth to his forehead. “I’ll go call the doctor and ask him to come talk to you.”

“You’ll be right back?” he spoke up, surprising me, because I thought he’d passed out again.

With a gulp and a violent wrench of my heart, I nodded, “I’ll be right back.” 

I left Harry’s bedroom before going down to the kitchen, getting a sleeve of Saltine’s and a cold can of ginger-ale. It was Marci DeLaSearle's cure for an upset stomach. On the way back, I knocked on the door of the room where Dr. Rosenblum was staying. He didn’t seem at all disheveled, like one would assume someone would be if he or she were woken up in the middle of the night. Someone who ran a rehab center probably wasn’t unaccustomed to this sort of thing. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s Harry. I think…I think he’s ready.”

The doctor just nodded and followed me to Harry's bedroom. When we got there, William and Kate were helping him into bed. Harry was muttering, “Mmm suh…suh…” I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he was trying to say, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Kate assured him, pressing the damp cloth to his forehead. “Sh… it’s all going to be all right.”

“Rs…Rahsss…”

I thrust the crackers and soda at Kate and brushed some rusty hair off Harry’s clammy forehead. “I’m here. I’m right here,” I assured him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

Harry’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around for a moment before his gaze settled on me. “I came to get you. I came to get you.”

With a hard swallow, I looked at Will and Kate, hoping they thought he was just talking nonsense. I didn’t know if they were aware of what had happened, and I didn’t want them to find out. I didn’t want anyone to find out, not even Bianca. She’d been there right after it happened, and I still hadn’t said anything to her.

A few weeks ago, Harry had shown up outside of my dorm building, strung out, asking me to come back with him. When I’d refused, he’d pinned me against the car, hard, before violently hissing in my ear, reminding me that he was stronger than me, that he could do what he wanted, and there wasn’t anything I’d be able to do about it. Fortunately for me, I’d been able to summon the strength to fight him off, and had returned to my room, relatively unscathed. But I hadn’t told anyone about it. I couldn't. I couldn't let anyone else to know because I was afraid that if they did, they wouldn’t be able to forgive Harry. I wasn’t sure I could forgive him after that, either, but I didn’t want anyone else to look at him the way I did now.

“It’s okay, Harry. Don’t worry about that now,” I whispered.

“What’s he talking about?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know,” I lied with a shrug. 

“Don’t try to make sense of it. He’s most likely having opiate induced flashbacks,” Dr. R offered, providing me with a cover. “Harry, it’s Dr. Rosenblum. Do you know where you are?”

It took a minute, but eventually Harry coughed a few times and tried to sit up. He opened and closed his dry mouth, and I popped open the can of ginger-ale and handed it to him. “Take a sip. Slow,” I advised.

Some of the amber liquid dribbled down his chin and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’m in Kensington.”

“Good. Who’s with you?”

“My brother, Kate, and Roxy. And…you.”

“Good. And who am I?”

“A doctor. From America.”

“And what do I do?”

“You help people like me.”

“And do you want my help?”

I held my breath. Kate reached out and took my hands in one of hers, William’s in the other. 

“Yes. God, yes.”

And then, before he could change his mind, Harry passed out again.


	49. Down This Endless Hole We'll Both Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After Harry's plea for help, Dr. Rosenblum took William, Kate, and I back to his room to tell us what happened next. There was a big desk in the room, and Dr. Rosenblum had set up his laptop on it, to do work during this trip. He sat behind the desk and the three of us sat across from him.

“Is this legal?” William asked. “I thought there was confidentiality between doctors and their patients.”

Dr. Rosenblum smiled kindly at him. “That’s right. So, I won’t tell you anything about Harry’s treatment. Instead, I’ll just give you some information on different treatments for heroin addiction.” He took a deep breath, and I anticipated a long explanation. “It’s important to understand that Harry isn’t going to get better overnight. Neither are your relationships with him. While it’s possible for them to get better over time, they’re most likely not going to be the same as they were before his abuse. The biggest problem addicts face is that they go through recovery expecting everything to be fine once they're sober. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, and I can say with absolute certainty that I have never once seen this happen.”

Kate held William’s hand in between her own, obviously disappointed by this news.

“As Harry’s brother and sister-in-law, I think it’s imperative that the two of you go through therapy with Harry, as a couple, and individually.”

William squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Therapy? Isn’t there just some…some pill you can give him or something?”

Dr. Rosenblum looked disappointed. “I’ve heard that you weren’t the most touchy-feely family, but I hoped you’d be different, William. Therapy is an essential part of the recovery process.”

“Essential for him. Not for us,” William replied, gesturing to himself and his wife.

“William, hush,” Kate nudged him. “Why do we have to go through it, Doctor?” she asked, far more politely than William.

Dr. R explained. “Addicts don’t become addicts out of nowhere. The addiction is the small tip of the iceberg, peeking out of the water. Underneath, there are other huge problems that contributed to the abuse. Like I told Harry, there are plenty of people who have been through traumatic experiences, and plenty of people who don’t self-medicate through the use of drugs or alcohol. There are several reasons why people do these things, and the family dynamic is an important contributor.”

“So you’re saying it’s _our_ fault Harry’s turned into a junkie?” William asked like he had vinegar on his tongue. It was easy to understand his frustration, and even I bristled when Dr. R said this. Was this William and Kate's fault? Or Prince Charles's? Was it, in some small way, my fault? For leaving him to his own devices, devices which had turned out to be horrible and self-destructive?

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Dr. Rosenblum shook his head. His patience was nothing short of amazing. He was definitely worth whatever he was charging for this. “But you’re going through something, too, as the brother of an addict.” Begrudgingly, William muttered his agreement, and Dr. R continued. “Medically, there’s been an uptick in recent years of the use of a drug called buprenorhphine.”

“I thought heroin addicts got methadone?” I asked. I really had no idea, but I’d read about morphine in an article about Kurt Cobain or something...kind of like I'd known to get someone from Hazelden from _Oprah_. It occured to me that at some point I was probably going to have to stop acting like I was in any way in charge or some sort of expert. 

“That used to be considered a standard treatment, but over the years there’s been studies that show that buprenorphine is more effective, and less easy to become addicted to than morphine or methadone.”

“Just how recently has this drug been discovered?” William asked. “Harry’s not a science project.”

Dr. Rosenblum may have had the patience of a saint, but he was clearly growing tired of William’s aggressive questioning. “I understand your concerns, but I assure you this is all very safe, especially in the UK. In the States, a recovering addict has to go to a center, where they can officially get their daily dosage, but here I can write a prescription for months at a time.”

William chuckled bitterly. “And I suppose you think Harry’s just going to pop into a Boots and pick up some…whatever you call this.”

Ignoring this statement completely, the doctor continued. “All of this, of course, needs to be supervised, and when he gets better he’ll start attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings. I will warn you again that, even with this recovery process, all of the therapy, all of the NA, and all of the drugs – recovery from an addiction as serious as heroin is extremely difficult. In fact, relapse is a common part of recovery. Harry has a long, hard road ahead of him, if he really wants to get better.”

William, Kate, and I got up to go, but I paused before asking, “Doctor, what…I mean, how likely is it that Harry will be able to get clean? And stay that way?”

I could tell that I wasn’t going to like his answer, solely based on the look on his face. With a regretful sigh, Dr. Rosenblum honestly told us, “The percentage of people who get clean and stay clean without relapsing is two,” Dr. Rosenblum answered, hammering the final nail into Harry’s coffin. “Two percent.”

***

Dr. Rosenblum wanted me to go to therapy, too, and I didn't bother to put up a fight. I knew I was going to need at least some help to get through this, to sort out how I felt about the past three days that felt like years. I sent someone over to the apartment to get my things and tell Bianca where I was and what I was doing, since I didn’t want to tell her over the phone. Lately, the press had been getting a hold on stories that seemed impossible to get – voice mail messages William had left on Harry’s phone, or Kate's. I didn’t know what was going on, but I didn’t want any way that the press could get a hold of our secret. I told the KP employee to only tell Bianca that I was there and I’d be home soon, even though I had no idea if that was true or not.

Since Harry had agreed to accept Dr. Rosenblum’s help and start the recovery process, he was in bed a lot of the time. Withdrawal from heroin was apparently very painful, even though Dr. R was administering doses of the buprenorphine to make it easier for him. A nurse for KP went in and out of his room to clean up, because it wasn’t rare that Harry would vomit, pee, shit, or sweat a ridiculous amount in his sleep. I’d done a lot for Harry, but I wasn’t going to literally wipe his ass for him; I’d leave that job to someone who got paid for it. I felt bad that he was suffering, but since he was mostly bedridden it meant that I didn’t have to awkwardly bump into him in the hallways or anything. There were times when I’d pop in, of course, but most of the time Harry would insist that William, Kate, and I leave him alone – embarrassed by the entire, disgusting process. I had to admit, I was a little relieved.

Almost immediately following my agreement to join Dr. Rosenblum for therapy sessions, I regretted it. My mom had attempted to get Grace and I to see someone after our dad left, but the idea had never appealed to me. It wasn’t that I thought people who saw therapists were crazy, I just used my pointe shoes and the ballet studio as my therapist. I’d gotten the employee who’d gone to the apartment to get my shoes, and I was dancing in the room Harry and I had our first kiss in, when Kate suddenly appeared in the doorway. “You’re so pretty,” she gave me a small smile.

Kate Middleton calling anyone else pretty seemed absurd to me. I assumed she looked in the mirror every morning and felt bad for everyone else because she was clearly the most beautiful woman on earth. Blushing, I wiped some sweat off my forehead and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Dr. R says he wants to see you,” she told me. “William and I have just gotten out of a session with him.”

I thought it was kind of ridiculous that two newlyweds were going to couples therapy, but I also gave Dr. Rosenblum the benefit of the doubt. Out of respect, I didn’t ask Kate or William what that was like, but I was dying to know what they talked about. “How is it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to compare it to, really.”

Not for the first time, I envied Kate. Unlike Harry and I, she came from a stable family unit. Her mother had probably never encouraged her to seek extra help for her problems. Kate had never had those sorts of problems. Okay, so her life hadn’t been _perfect_ …or had it? “Yeah. He wants to see me now?”

“At one, he said,” she told me. “I think he has to go give Harry more of that...stuff. Is it medicine? That doesn’t seem like the right word.”

I knew what she meant. Checking the time, I told Kate I had to go shower off my dance sweat before I saw the doctor. It felt good to change into my own clothes that weren’t the same ones I’d been wearing for days. I pulled on grey corduroys and a black tank top, pulled my hair into a messy bun, and went to meet the doctor.

“Come in,” he invited me with a friendly smile as he opened the door. He gestured for me to sit across the desk from him, and when I did, he picked up a pen, holding it over a yellow note-pad. “Nice to see you, Roxanna. Do you prefer Roxy?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” He gave me another smile and I squirmed in my chair. “So, Roxy, tell me a little about yourself.”

Confused, I asked, “Like…what?”

“Like where you’re from, how you came to London.”

“I’m from New Jersey. I came to London to dance. Don’t you know all this?”

Dr. Rosenblum nodded. “I do. But I want to hear it in your own words.”

I took a deep breath that I blew out through my lips, sounding like a tractor. “Okay. Well I grew up in New Jersey with my mom and my sister, I danced my whole life, and I got a scholarship to RBA. So I took it.”

Dr. R scribbled down some notes on the yellow pad before looking back up at me. “I see. And how did you get into RBA? I know for schools like Julliard you have to audition. Was it similar to that?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “You have to audition for all the schools.”

“And what other schools did you audition for?”

“A bunch. Paris, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Julliard, ABT, San Francisco, NYCB, Sydney,” I rattled off a list of names. “I don’t know. A bunch.”

“Mhm. And RBA was the only school that accepted you?”

“No,” I shook my head, trying to remember the other offers I’d gotten. “I got into Paris, Kirov, Sydney, Julliard, and San Francisco. I think that’s it.”

More note-taking. “Mhm, I see. And was RBA the only school to offer you a scholarship?”

“No.”

“Which of the others did?”

“All of them.”

Dr. Rosenblum blinked, surprised. “So what made you decide on this school, then? It seems like you had your pick of the litter.”

Shrugging, I answered, “I guess I had some choices. I just decided to come to London because I knew the language, Sydney was too far, and staying in the States seemed boring.”

“Boring? San Francisco? New York City?” he asked, his eyebrows rising. “You might be the first person I’ve seen to call New York City 'boring.'”

“I guess they didn’t all grow up in Jersey,” I offered, with maybe just a hint of sass.

Dr. R chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” He jotted down more notes before tilting his head to one side. “You say you chose RBA because you spoke the language, but certainly institutions in Paris and Russia would have offered programs spoken in English?” 

I ran my tongue over my teeth as I slowly nodded, wondering where this was going. "Probably."

Dr. Rosenblum changed the subject, moving onto a different line of questioning. “Tell me about back home. What was life in New Jersey like?”

I wanted to sarcastically reply, “Like _The Sopranos_ ,” but held it back. “It was okay. It wasn’t terrible or anything, but it wasn’t great. I didn’t have a lot of friends in high school, just some girls who I danced with.”

“Why is that?” the doctor asked. I appreciated that he wasn’t judging me for being a social outcast.

Honestly, I answered, “I don’t know. I guess I was just more interested in dancing than I was in boys or clothes or whatever.” I paused before adding, “And besides…I didn’t really want to tell anyone about my parents. It was a little embarrassing, having to explain why my dad was sometimes there, sometimes not, sometimes drunk and mean, other times sober and mean.”

“I see.” Dr. R wrote this down before continuing. “And home? What was that like?”

“I lived with my mom and my older sister. My dad left when I was younger.”

“How old?”

“The first time? Four.”

“And how old are you now?”

“Almost nineteen.”

“So…then your father left…”

“The summer of 1997, for the first time. He was gone for a few months, I can’t remember. He left for good when I was ten.”

Dr. Rosenblum scribbled this down, too. “Your mother, do you get along with her?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I know there are some girls who don’t get along with their moms in high school, but my mom and I have alwaysbeen close. We fought sometimes, but we were always fine.”

“Good. That must have been nice.”

“It was,” I agreed, suddenly missing my mom more than I ever had since I’d been in London.

“You mentioned an older sister,” Dr. R prompted.

“Oh, yeah. Grace. She’s a brain surgeon. She lives in Boston.”

“A brain surgeon? She sounds very intelligent. That must have been a lot to live up to when you were younger,” the doctor sympathized.

“It was,” I confirmed. “It was pretty annoying. I guess that’s why I danced so much. It was the only thing I was ever better at than Grace.”

Dr. R chuckled. “How did you come to meet Harry?”

I was surprised that I didn’t mind answering this question. It was nice, actually, thinking back to that time, before everything got so messy, when I was so excited to see if he’d call, or so nervous about what to wear. It was much more fun than being nervous about whether or not he was going to die in the middle of the night. “It was the night that Will and Kate announced their engagement on TV. My roommate, Bianca, she’s an aristocrat, and she took me out to this club, Boujis. I usually never go out to clubs like that. I mean, I’m just not one of those people who goes out to dance clubs or anything, and I knew it was going to be someplace posh if Bianca wanted to go there. Anyway, I went, and I ended up spilling my drink all over Prince Harry,” I remembered fondly.

Dr. Rosenblum made an “hm,” sound, and then assessed, “Interesting.”

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “What?” I finally asked.

He sat back in his chair. “You say you don’t go out to clubs, and yet, you went to this one that night. When you knew that people would be out, celebrating, in a good mood.”

I shrugged. “It was a Friday night and we just found out that there would be a royal wedding. Everyone was in a good mood.”

“Right, but not everyone was going to Boujis. I’ve been in London for four days, and even I know that the young royals are always in and out of a club called Boujis.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I asked, “What, exactly, are you suggesting, Doctor?”

I wasn’t sure if he heard me or was just too wrapped up in his own theory to answer. “And you came to London, even though you had your pick of practically every other ballet school on the planet.”

“So you’re saying I did this on purpose? Came to London to catch a prince?”

“I think it’s more complicated than that. Not even your subconscious thought of it that way. No, I think you came to London because you felt, in a way, that you were already here.”

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “What does that mean?”

Dr. Rosenblum looked me in the eye, but not in an aggressive, assertive way. He seemed gentle as he explained to me, “An overshadowing sibling. The loss of a parent at a young age, in the summer of 1997, no less. Never knowing who to befriend, whom to trust during your youth. No, I don’t think you came here to attract Harry’s attention. I think you came here because you felt, in a sense, that a part of you was here already, and that you wanted to be whole. To be complete.”

It was like he’d been watching me for the past year, listening in on all of the conversations I’d been having with everyone around me, every time they asked me how I liked London. It had felt, finally, like being home. Like I’d finally found a place where I belonged. Like I’d been searching my whole life for a place where I could feel whole, and warm, and I’d found it in London. I’d found it in Harry. 

“The reason you came back here that night,” he continued slowly, gentler still, “wasn’t to save Harry. It was to save yourself.” Dr. Rosenblum kept analyzing before I could protest. “If Harry would have died that night, you would have died right along with him.”

I must have looked as broken as I felt, because Dr. R subtly pushed over the box of tissues on his desk. Taking one, I dabbed at my eyes. Finally, he softly told me, “I think that’s all the time we have for today.”

I sniffled with a nod. “Sure.”

My hand was around the doorknob before Dr. R called back, “Roxy.” I turned around. “We’ll talk about codependent relationships some more later. They’re most commonly found in parasites.”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “If you’re comparing me to a parasite, Dr. Rosenblum, you should talk to the staff here more.”


	50. Telling Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After we’d all agreed to therapy, Dr. Rosenblum had called his wife and two young daughters and told them he’d be in London for the foreseeable future. His wife left Minnesota to join him in London so they could talk about the next couple of months, if the whole family should move, I guessed. He didn’t really share that much about his life with us. It was, after all, supposed to work the other way around. More than once I wondered how we were supposed to pay him for this. Was William just going to cut him a big check? The thought had occurred to Wills as well, and there was pretty much no way that he would be able to pass along a chunk of money this big without his father noticing. I didn’t know how it all worked, but all of William’s money was actually Charles’s, except for the money he’d gotten from Diana’s estate when he was thirty. 

The problem with paying Dr. Rosenblum had nothing to do with money and everything to do with what other compensation he may want. As it turned out, he and William negotiated a published case study on Harry in ten years, or when Harry’s problem was exposed in the media, whichever came first. I had my money on media exposure. Dr. R stressed that it was important that Harry continue to make public appearances for the sake of secrecy. He couldn't just go missing from the public for months at a time. Even with the infrequent and very quick outings, I knew the secret couldn’t stay hidden for long, not with Harry having to go to NA meetings, and not with him looking like a zombie while he shook hands. Every second of each new day, I wondered how on earth we were managing to pull this off.

It took a couple of days, but eventually Harry felt well enough to venture outside of his room and go on these official engagements with William and Kate. Dr. R also made him go for walks around Kensington Gardens, insisting that the fresh air and the exercise would do him good. He was in therapy individually with the doctor twice a week, and he went for a session with Will once a week. I was the only one out of all of them who only saw the doctor one day a week, and I couldn’t have been more relieved about it. Although, I did hope he could prescribe me something to put me to sleep. Not too surprisingly, I hadn’t been able to do that lately, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. 

One night, around midnight, maybe a little after, I was in the kitchen at KP, eating a bowl of Wheetabix and reading some boring novel on organic farming I’d found lying around. I thought reading something boring would help put me to sleep, but instead I was just getting really interested in growing plants without using pesticides. 

“Oh. Um...hello.”

I looked up, surprised to see Harry standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked a little less pale, but that was because his skin was yellow or green, the color of a bruise that had been purple and was slowly fading. “Hey.”

He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck. His once toned body seemed to have shriveled. The skin around his face looked pulled tight, almost like just a skeleton. “Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

I chewed on my lip a little as I nodded. For some reason, I didn’t want Harry to feel bad about being the reason for my insomnia, even though he was. “Yeah. What are you doing down here?”

“Dr. R told me I have to clean my room.”

Surprising myself, I let out a loud laugh. “Does he _know_ you?”  
Harry smirked, and it warmed my heart to see that again. “I guess that’s a fair question. I’m actually looking for the mop. You don’t know where they keep it, do you?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Sorry. Why don’t you just ask someone?”

He looked like he was considering this. “That wouldn’t be cheating?”

“I don't think so. I mean, you’re not making them clean up for you. You can’t clean if you don’t have a mop.”

“Well…I suppose that’s true,” Harry agreed. He picked up the phone in the kitchen. “This is Harry. Could you bring me the mop, please? I’m in the kitchen. Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.” When he hung up, he gave me that smirk again. “I think they were as amused as you were.”

I forced out a smile at him before the feeling hit me that there wasn’t anything funny about this. Harry had to clean up his room because his doctor told him to. His doctor told him to clean up his room because he’d destroyed it in a drug-induced rage. From the slightly confused and concerned look on his face, I could tell that the same thing had just occurred to Harry, so I tried to break the tension. “So…are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Harry blushed just a little. I was relieved at the evidence that he actually had blood in his body. “I know that all of this is my own fault. But I really wish people would stop asking me that.” I silently agreed with him about this being his fault. With a sigh, Harry answered my question. “I don’t think ‘okay’ is the right word, but I know it was the right thing to do,” he confirmed.  
“Well, that’s a relief.”

“It’s early days, yet. Dr. R says people relapse after as soon as three days.”

“I know,” I acknowledged.

We didn’t have anything to say after that. The man I'd used to spend whole weekends with and I had nothing to say to each other anymore. Thankfully, a member of the staff joined us in the kitchen, holding the mop and a bucket of cleaning supplies. “Good luck,” I offered Harry, and left him to his mopping.

***

Dr. Rosenblum had another condition: At some point, we were going to have to tell Harry’s father. He was doing a tour of Asia at the moment, but he would be home in a week. Dr. Rosenblum assigned Will, Kate, and I this little assignment. “Why can’t Harry do it?” William asked, sounding like a seven-year-old.

Crossing his fingers under his chin Dr. Rosenblum gave William a pointed look. “Was this Harry’s idea?”

Looking guilty, William backed off. Later that night, Harry and Dr. Rosenblum were in their rooms and William, Kate, and I were in the kitchen. Dr. Rosenblum had explained to his wife what was going on only after she signed a confidentiality agreement, and as far as his two daughters knew, he was “at work.” I got the impression that he was at work a lot, so this was a believable excuse. Kate had made dinner and the three of us were silently pushing curry around our plates, contemplating how this was going to work.

“Well obviously Willie should be the one to do it,” Kate said out of nowhere.

My eyes widened and I looked at William. I’d been thinking the same thing, but I was too afraid to say it. I was kind of surprised that Kate finally had. “What?” he asked.

“You’re related to him,” Kate said.

“Well...so are you now,” Will countered. Kate opened her mouth to protest but he continued. “Besides, he likes you. He’ll get much less pissed off if you tell him than if I do.”

“No, absolutely not,” Kate shook her head. 

The two of them looked at each other and, slowly and at the same exact moment, turned to me. “No.”

“Come on, Roxy!” William pressed. “You were the one who was calm and cool and came up with this whole plan.”

“Wait a minute, I brought Dr. Rosenblum here so now _I_ have to tell your dad?” I asked, just to be clear.

Pausing for a minute, they both answered, “Yes.”

I rolled my eyes and got up to put my plate in the dishwasher. “Well, I’m not doing it, and I think William should do it.”

“Why?” he whined.

“Because you’re the only one he can’t legally behead. Why do you think?” I asked. “You’re ‘the Heir’ Wills. Sorry. Tough life, I know, but I’m pretty sure this falls under your job description.”

Stumped, William mumbled, “Fine,” and sulked for a few minutes. 

I was about to go to bed when Kate spoke up, “So, when do you think he should do it?” I left the kitchen before they could debate that topic.

***

Prince Charles was coming back on Thursday, and I was dreading it. I didn’t want to see his step-mother after she found out about this stuff, which she would no doubt somehow blame on me, and I definitely didn’t want to see his dad or his grandmother. I was sort of hoping that I could miss the whole thing. When the time finally came, a house worker announced to William that his dad was on his way to the house.

“I’m…gonna go,” I said, getting up from the table where the three of us were playing cards. It wasn't the most exciting way to spend our time, but anything that would take our minds off of the unpleasant situation we were in (to put it extremely lightly) was fine for us.

Kate looked at me with obvious jealousy. “Lucky.”

“I really don’t want to be around for this,” I told them honestly, and left the room before William demanded that I stay. With nothing to do in my room, I took a shower to pass the time, staying in until my fingertips and toes had started to prune up. When I thought the coast would be clear, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping that there would be a member of the staff around who could tell me some juicy celebrity gossip, or anything mindless that would distract me from worrying about the fallout from what William was telling Charles. Unfortunately, on my way there I turned a corner and saw Will and Kate wearing somber expressions and talking to William’s dad, who was staring at them blankly.

I was about to turn right around and take an alternate route to the kitchen when Kate saw me, pointed at me, and said something. Prince Charles turned in my direction then, starting to stride toward me. My heart stopped in the three seconds it took him to reach me. “Your Royal Highness, I can explain,” I started with a shallow curtsey, breaking protocol. I wasn’t supposed to speak unless spoken to. “It was a split-second decision and we had to act or else…”

Prince Charles cut me off, placing his hands on my shoulders and gripping them. “You saved my boy?” he asked.

My mouth opened and closed and I looked to Will and Kate for an answer. “We…we all did,” I shrugged.

The words were barely out of my mouth when Prince Charles embraced me. Shocked, I did my best to give him a formal pat on the back. I’d never seen him hug anyone besides the boys, not even Camilla. When he pulled away I noticed that his eyes were rimmed with red. As in tears. My heart softened for him. If William, Kate, and I felt guilty for the part we'd had to play in making Harry feel like his only escape, his only way to feel better (or maybe nothing at all) was through the use of heroin, I could only imagine what Charles must have felt as a parent. Complete and utter failure wouldn't be out of the question. “Well thank you, Roxanna. Where is Harry?”

“Papa, I have to tell you before you see him. He’s…not looking his best,” William tried to explain. 

Prince Charles nodded. “Get the doctor, I want to meet him after I see Harry.”

“I’ll get him,” Kate offered, and tugged me along to go get Dr. Rosenblum. We were safely out of earshot before she worded my exact thoughts. “That’s one reunion I don’t want to be around for.”


	51. If I Leave You It Doesn't Mean I Love You Any Less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After Prince Charles had returned home, Dr. Rosenblum added another round of therapy. Harry’s father would have to go individually, just like the rest of us. He was also going to do sessions with Harry, and occasionally with both of the boys. I didn’t envy poor William, who was somehow getting almost as much therapy as Harry. 

Things had also gotten increasingly more awkward between Harry and I. It seemed that the longer he was in recovery, the worse it got. I didn’t know why this was, exactly, but I assumed it had a lot to do with humiliation. Harry had taken to blushing, muttering something about feeling better, and leaving the room every time he saw me. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking of specifically - there were so many parts of the past few months that were probably embarrassing to him now, it would have been impossible to pin down just one. I felt bad for him, but this problem was entirely of his own making.

Another thing that sucked about this arrangement was that I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t leave KP in the middle of the day because the press would see. I could leave in the wee hours of the morning, but at that time, where exactly was I going to go? Occasionally Kate and I went running early in the morning, and the press did find us but they didn’t think it was weird that two friends were working out together. Kate and Will could leave every once in a while to be seen out in public with Harry, or do their jobs, but I was more or less stuck. The apartment at KP was huge, but not huge enough that it wasn’t starting to drive me crazy. 

I told Dr. Rosenblum about my cabin fever in a therapy session one day and he nodded. “Well good, because I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“About what?”

“About you being here. I understand why you're staying, but I’m not sure it’s what’s best for Harry or, more importantly, best for you.”  
I mulled this over. “How so?” Not that I was dying to remain cooped up here, but I thought that as many people as possible who were devoted to Harry’s recovery being around was probably a good thing. 

Sitting back in his chair, Dr. Rosenblum elaborated. “We’ve discussed the relationship between you and Harry being co-dependant.”

“So you don’t want me around because you think Harry and his sobriety will depend on my being here?” I asked.

“That’s part of it,” Dr. R agreed. “The other part is because of your dependence on him.”

I choked on my own saliva. “ _What_? I’m not dependant on him! _I_ broke up with _him_! _I_ told him to leave _me_ alone!”

“But you came back,” Dr. Rosenblum pointed out.

“He was dying!”

“And you came back.” Dr. R had this way of saying something simple in a calm manner, but managing to infuriate me all the same. This was one of those things. “Besides, you’re a nineteen-year-old girl. You should be out enjoying life at school with your friends, focused on your schoolwork. Not locked up in a castle, quite literally.”  
“Are you…kicking me out?” I asked slowly.

Dr. Rosenblum’s shrug infuriated me. “If that’s how you choose to look at it. I’m just trying to tell you what I think would be best for you and Harry, which is why you called me here.” When I didn’t answer, Dr. Rosenblum pressed further. “Are you afraid of what will happen if you’re not here?” I nodded slowly and Dr. Rosenblum gave me a sympathetic look. “See Roxy, that’s the kind of thinking that gets us into trouble. It’s not your job to save Harry.” Trying to hide my tearing eyes from him, I reached forward and plucked a tissue from the box on Dr. Rosenblum’s desk. He waited for me to dab my eyes before continuing. “I’m not saying you can’t come check in on him from time to time. Of course you and Harry can still remain friendly. But that line between friendship and a romantic relationship can’t be crossed right now.”

“I know,” I told him, holding my hands up in surrender. When I got up to leave the office, Dr. Rosenblum spoke up before my hand reached the doorknob. 

“Roxanna, I’m serious about that.” I turned back for him to explain. “You and Harry are friends for now.”

“Yeah, I _know_ , it was _my_ idea,” I insisted before leaving the office...and maybe I slammed the door, just a little.

***

I was packing up my things when there was a soft knock on my door. I knew it was Kate – I could tell from the knock. “Come in.”

She did, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click and sitting down on the bed. Tucking one leg underneath her, she let out a weary sigh. For the past several days, she’d been wearing jeans and old sweatshirts of William’s. The one she had on now was navy blue. In white block letters it read, “St. Andrew’s University.” Her hair was down and curly, the natural curls she’d had before she’d started going for hundred-pound treatments at the Richard Ward Hair Salon. She hadn’t done her make up in days. Even in a sweatshirt, tired, with no make up on she was still one of the prettiest women I’d ever seen. (The only other women who could possibly give her a run for her money, in my opinion, were Victoria White, the principal dancer of the Royal Ballet Company or Charlotte Casiraghi, grand-daughter of Princess Grace of Monaco.) “Dr. R told us you’d be leaving.”

I tossed a balled up pair of socks into a suitcase. “Yeah. It’s probably for the best.”

“I know,” Kate acknowledged. “But I wish you weren’t. I don’t know how any of us are supposed to do this without you." It was bizarre to hear Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, future queen consort, admit this.

“You’ll be fine,” I assured her.

“Do you actually believe that? Or are you just saying it to make me feel better?” she asked.

With a wince I answered honestly, “A little of both?”

She forced out a smile at me. “What are you going to do now?”

That was a good question. With a shrug, I replied, “Go back home, I guess. I still have some unpacking to do.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you and Bianca moved,” she remembered absent-mindedly, shaking her head. “How are you liking it?”

“The house?”

“Right.”

“I like it fine, I guess. I wouldn’t really know, I haven’t spent a lot of time there.”

Kate gave me a regretful look, no doubt remembering the frantic phone call she’d made to me the night we’d moved into our new apartment. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I turned to her. She didn’t look convinced, and I knew we were talking about more than my apartment now. “It’s not, Kate.”

A tear rolled down her lovely face. She was one of those pretty criers. She wiped the tear away. “I should have known. I should have said something sooner.”

“There was nothing you could have done differently. It just…happened,” I finished with an unsatisfying shrug.

“I know,” she sniffled. “I know that.” She left off the end of this sentence, which was that, even though we all knew that, it still didn’t make us feel any better.

The phone in my room rang and I picked up. “This is Roxy.”

“Your car is here for you, Miss DeLaSearle.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right down.” Hanging up, I zipped my suitcase closed and turned to Kate. “I should go say good-bye to Harry.” She nodded. “You’re going to be fine, Kate,” I repeated. “You’re all going to be fine.” Before I left the room, I bent down and planted a kiss on her forehead.

So softly that I could barely hear it, Kate whispered, “I’m scared."  
“It’ll be okay.” She gave me a weak smile that didn’t seem very encouraging. When I left the room, I heard her sniffling back tears again.

*** 

When I got to Harry’s room, the door was open. As per Dr. Rosenblum’s orders, he wasn’t allowed to have it closed. He was vacuuming the plush carpet around the couch, following the rule that he had to keep his room clean. I kind of wanted to take a picture as evidence. At first, he didn’t hear me come in over the noise. When he finally looked up, he blinked, surprised to see me. I didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t heard me come in or if it was because I was the last person he expected to see in his room. Either way, he turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I replied. We stood there in a dense, awkward silence for several long moments. “So…I guess Dr. R probably told you that I’m leaving.”

“He did,” Harry confirmed. He didn’t say anything else.

“Oh.” My heart was pounding in my ears. When had I become so nervous around him? Probably around the time he’d lunged at Kate, reaching out to grip his hands around her throat. Or around the time he'd pinned me against an SUV and threatened to commit unfathomable violence against me. “Well…I just wanted to stop by and…and say good-bye.” Harry nodded. I took another cautious step towards him, feeling my hands start to shake. “You’re gonna be okay, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice trembling. He swallowed and nodded again. Reaching up, I placed my palm against his cheek. He used to be so warm. It had always been so nice to tuck myself into him, wrap his body around mine. Now his skin was cold to the touch. “Harry, I…I know you don’t remember that night. But when you saw me, you said…you said that it couldn’t really be me because I didn’t love you anymore.”

Harry tried to interject. “Roxy,” he started, taking my hand that was touching his face in his.

“No, let me…just let me say this,” I pleaded with him. Harry nodded. “The reason we broke up was not because I didn’t love you anymore. I did. I mean, I do. I still do, and I’m sure I always will.” True, it was a different love; a more passive love, but it was still love. “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t have helped you sooner,” I repeated Kate’s regret. “I’ll be thinking about you. All the time. Every day.” Harry held his complete poker face. My bottom lip trembled and I stood on my toes, placing my lips against his cheek. I turned around and walked away before he could see me cry. 

Right when I was about to walk out the door, he muttered, “Don’t,” under his breath. I knew he meant for me not to think about him all the time, every day. I didn’t turn back around to let him know that this request was impossible.


	52. Home Sweet Home

Eleven days and what seemed like a lifetime after I’d been called by Kate, I was back in the new apartment. It had been raining when I’d gotten out of the car in the late afternoon, so there were only one or two tipped off paparazzi standing across the street. I ignored them, as usual, and took my bags inside. When I plopped them down on the hardwood floors, I knew they weren't heavy enough to feel as good as it did to release them, but it felt like I'd suddenly lost fifty pounds. I instantly felt guilty for feeling so relieved, but I was. I was relieved to be back in my own apartment, without the staff at KP sticking up their noses at me, able to be where ever I wanted without the threat of bumping into Prince Charles or Harry around every corner. 

Leaning against the closed door, I tried to wrap my head around the past eleven days, and around the future. What if Harry relapsed? What if Dr. Rosenblum left? What if I wasn’t there to stop any of it? It wasn't lost on me that these fears were the exact reason Dr. R had insisted that I needed to leave. 

“Roxy?” Bianca called from the top of the stairs. “Roxy, is that you?” She padded down the stairs, wearing clothes that told me she’d just come back from the gym. “Holy fuck, Roxy, where have you been? I’ve been calling you for days, I was about to call the police and make sure they weren't holding you hostage at Kensington!” She was pissed, obviously, and I understood why. Bianca blinked and gave me a once over. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically.

“What’s wrong?”

I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying before I reached up and touched my cheeks. Since I had no control over it, and since I was with Bianca in the safety of our own home, I let out the sob I’d been holding in since I saw Harry on the bathroom floor. “Oh my God. It’s been awful,” I told her.

“What has?” Bianca asked soothingly, embracing me in a comforting hug. “I’ll put some tea on.” She gestured for me to sit on the couch and I did, listening to the sounds of her rummaging around in the kitchen. She came back, tucked a leg under her on the sofa, and tilted her head to the side, waiting for me to explain. Taking a deep breath, I told her the whole story, from when Kate had called me up until now. When I was finished, the teakettle was whistling and Bianca’s eyes were wide with shock. “Oh my God, Roxy. I can’t…that’s unbelievable.”

“I know,” I said, wiping my eyes with a tissue. “It was terrible. I thought he would die, and none of us knew what to do, and then I got k-k-kicked out.”

With a sympathetic smile, Bianca shrugged. “Well…they didn’t really kick you out. He just said it would be best for Harry. I mean, that’s what you want, right?” she encouraged, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Well yeah,” I muttered, "but he didn’t even tell me he loved me back.”

“Roxy, the man was _literally_ shitting his bed a few days ago. Is it possible that he was just a _little_ disoriented?” she asked.  
Pausing, I reluctantly agreed, “Well…maybe.”

Bianca gave me a sympathetic smile, hugging a pillow to her chest. “So what now?”

“What do you mean, 'What now?'”

She shrugged. “Do you think you’re going to go back? Talk to this Dr. Rosenblum some more?”

“I don’t know. Things just got so weird at the end. I’d feel…stupid going back, like I was looking for an excuse to be there or something.” I chewed on my lip before finally asking, “So…what do you think? About what he said, about me coming to London and everything?”

Bianca thought about this before settling on, “I have no idea, Roxy!” At my unsatisfied expression, she laughed. “I’m sorry! I just don’t know. My mum put me in therapy for a little while after my dad died.”

“And? Did it help?” I asked.

It was clear that Bianca didn’t want to say no, but that she was thinking it. “It’s...hard to say. I don’t know, maybe.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement for therapy.”

She snickered. “No, and you won’t get one from me, either. But what do I know?”

“Well, more about therapy than I do,” I pointed out.

“Which is literally next to nothing,” she retorted. Before I could ask her why she had a negative view on therapy, she spoke up again. “Right. Why don’t you go to sleep? You look tired.”

“Oh God, I haven’t even looked in a mirror in days.”

“That’s very clear,” Bianca patted my shoulder. “After you’re done napping you should probably go ahead and take a shower.”

***

Bianca and I were still on summer vacation, and she wanted to make sure I was getting the most of it. It usually wasn’t warm enough to lay out in a bathing suit, and as the Jersey girl that I was, my pasty white skin horrified me. “Let’s get a spray tan!” she suggested. “I’ve never done it before. Pippa says you can call people to come do it right in your house!” I agreed and we called Pippa to find out who offered this service.

“Ooh! Yes, let’s! We can have a little spa day! I’ll get spray tanners, a masseuse, someone to do our nails and give us facials. I’ll invite Kate!” Then, in a low voice over the phone, she confessed, “She’s been looking a little tired around the eyes lately.”

Bianca and I looked at each other and were silent for a minute before agreeing. “Yeah, spa party, sounds great,” I told her.

The next Saturday, we all met up at Pippa’s Chelsea flat for a spa day. It was my first time seeing Kate since I’d left KP. She looked exactly as exhausted as when I’d left her. I tried to relax as I leaned back in the cushy chair and dunked my feet in hot water, preparing for a pedicure. There was a huge ginger elephant in the room, and even though Pippa didn’t know specifics, she picked up on the tense energy. Leaning forward in her chair from where she was seated at the end, she looked at the three of us before asking, “What’s going on?”

“Hm?” Bianca asked, relaxed, eyes-closed.

“There’s obviously something going on,” she pointed out.

“Pippa, there’s nothing going on,” Kate lied.

“Well you guys are acting weird!”

“Pip! We’re sitting here getting pedicures!” her older sister pointed out. “We’re not acting like anything!”

Pippa narrowed her eyes at us before sitting back in her chair. “Fine. Whatever you say. But I don’t believe you.”

“Hey, can you hand me that _Hello_?” I asked, pointing to the magazine that Pippa was done with. She passed it to Kate, who passed it to Bianca, who passed it to me. I flipped through the first couple of pages before I saw a small picture of Will, Kate, and Harry at lunch at some café. Kate peered over my shoulder and, without saying anything, pointed to Harry’s hollow cheekbones and milky, somewhat purple skin. I nodded and wanted more than _anything_ to ask her how they were all doing. But, obviously, that was impossible.

We had moved on from pedis to manis when Pippa spoke up again. “So Sophie and Grant invited me to the Hamptons next week. Anybody want to come along?”

Kate bit her bottom lip. “Ooh, we can’t. Willie and I have…a thing.”

“What thing?” Pippa asked, suspiciously raising one eyebrow. It was probably a sister thing that tipped Pippa off that Kate was lying. I could always tell when Grace was lying, too.

“This charity thing,” Kate defended herself.

“You’re bluffing!” Pippa insisted.

“I am not! Why would I lie about not going on holiday in the Hamptons?”

“Quick, what charity?” Pippa interrogated her sister.

“Centrepoint,” Kate instantly answered, and I was both relieved and impressed.

Pippa was sated, for now. “Fine. B? Trip to the Hamptons?”

“I’d love to,” she revealed, "but Mum and Paul have booked a holiday in Venice.”

“You poor thing,” I rolled my eyes.

“I _am_ a poor thing,” she agreed. “A week stuck with Paul?”

“He was perfectly nice,” I remarked of the one time I’d spent winter break with Bianca, on what could only be described as her estate.

“Yeah, you don’t know what he’s like,” she muttered under her breath.

Before I could ask her what she meant, Pippa turned to me. “What about you, Rox?”

“I can’t afford a flight to the Hamptons.” Every once in a while I had to remind my very dear friends that I didn’t come from royal stock, or from a family with self-made millionaires as parents.

“I can,” Pippa offered.

I shook my head. “Pippa, you’re not paying for me to go to the Hamptons.”

“Oh, come on,” she wheedled. “It’ll be for me, really. If you don’t come, I’ll be bored to tears, sitting around listening to rich, old people talking about being rich and old.”

“So then why are you going?” I asked, bemused.

She gave me a blank look like I was crazy. “I’ll be bored, Roxy, but I’m not mad.”

Laughing, I told her I’d think about it, even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to change my mind.

The four of us got spray-tanned before the masseurs split us up into pairs. They set up two massage tables in the living room and two in Pippa’s bedroom. We stripped down and wrapped the sheets around us before lying face down on the tables. The two masseurs stepped out to get the massage oil and Kate turned to me. “I think you should go.”

I blinked. “You want me to leave?”

She chuckled. “No, ninny, not the room. I think you should go with Pippa to the Hamptons.”

“I can’t afford it. Besides, I should be here in case…I have to be here,” I finished.  
Kate understood. “Roxy, this is exactly why Dr. R thought you needed to leave Kensington. Even if something were to happen, what could you do about it?”

“Nothing, but at least I would be here.” It was sort of a stupid reply. Then I asked, in a small voice, “How is he?”

Kate sighed. “Dr. R says he’s getting better. It doesn’t much look that way to Will and I, or Charles, but Dr. R says that’s normal. It’ll get worse before it gets better, apparently. Harry’s in therapy every day, and once a week it’s the three of them. Will and I go once a week individually, once a week as a couple, and he goes once a week with Harry. It’s…it’s exhausting.” She shook her head and let out a breath. “You should hear him talk, Roxy. The way he talks about his mother…it’s like it just happened.” I had said this exact phrase to Bianca after Harry had told me the details of his relationship with Princess Diana. It had scared me, and I knew it must have scared Kate to hear. William and Prince Charles, maybe not so much. They had gone through their own separate mourning for Harry’s late mother; they knew how losing her had felt. Kate, on the other hand…

“I know,” I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Anyway,” she sighed. “I still think you should go. Sophie and Grant have been friends of our family for ages. It’ll take your mind off everything for a while, do you some good to get some sun.”

Eventually, I agreed with her and told Pippa to book me on her flight. “Have you ever been to the Hamptons before?” she asked.

With a scoff, I told her, “Pippa, I’m from New Jersey. We don’t go to the Hamptons. We go to Seaside Heights, where they film _Jersey Shore_.”


	53. The Red String Of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When Pippa and I had booked our flights, I called my mom and Grace and told them I’d be stateside for the week. They decided that Grace would fly down to Jersey for the weekend and we’d meet in the City for lunch one day. I had my bag packed and was ready to leave the next morning. It wasn’t until I was making tea for Bianca and I in the kitchen that night that I realized that she hadn’t packed a thing, and she was leaving earlier in the morning than I was. “B, shouldn’t you get packing?” I asked.

“Ugh. _Why_?” she groaned. “ _Why_ must I go on this dreaded holiday?”

“You know, B, there are starving babies in Africa,” I reminded her, before adding, "and, you know, everywhere else."

“Well if any of them want to go on holiday in Venice, I would be happy to let them.”

To be honest, I was sort of sick of hearing about how much she didn’t want to go on this vacation. A month ago I might have been more sympathetic, but after seeing Harry almost kill himself, I didn’t have much pity for someone who didn’t want to go on a Mediterranean vacation paid for entirely by her parents. “It’s a vacation in Italy, Bianca. How bad can it possibly be?”

“You don’t know anything about it,” she snapped. I turned to look at her from where I was brewing tea at the kitchen counter. At the expression of surprise on my face, she sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you know…things get awkward sometimes with Paul around. I’ve never particularly warmed to him.”

“No, you’re right,” I apologized. “I know it’ll be weird for you. Still, you should at least try to enjoy yourself, okay?” 

She agreed, but i could tell it was half-hearted.

Pippa and I left Heathrow on Saturday afternoon and arrived in Laguardia on Saturday afternoon. It was a bit of a mind-fuck. It had been stereotypically grey and drizzling when we left London. New York was bright and sunny. “Oh, thank _God_ it’s sunny out. I was beginning to forget what blue sky looked like,” Pippa dramatically lamented.

We got into a town car that would take us on the long drive to the Hamptons. We were both dozing off in the back seat when the driver cleared his throat. “We’re here, ladies,” he informed us, pulling into a gravel driveway. Sitting outside of a four-door garage was a titanium-gray Tesla Model X and a pearly white Lamborghini. _Welcome to the Hamptons_ , I thought to myself.

The driver was taking our bags out of the trunk of the car when a woman holding a glass of white wine appeared in the frame of the front door. “Yoo-hoo! Pippa!” she called out, waving to us. I noticed that she was clearly a native Brit. She jogged down the front steps and I got a good look at her. She was dressed simply in a denim skirt and a white tank top with a bright blue bikini underneath. Her blonde hair probably cost her a pretty penny, but not as much as her obvious Botox and collagen injections or her equally obvious implants. She gave Pippa an airy kiss on each cheek.

“Hi Sophie! This is my friend, Roxy,” Pippa introduced us.

I was about to extend my hand, but Sophie greeted me the exact same way she’d greeted Pippa. “Lovely to meet you, Roxy! Don’t worry, there’s no better cure for heart break than the Hamptons.”

Somewhat shocked by her statement, I blinked and shook my head, letting out an “Oh!” of surprise.

Pippa interjected before Sophie could share any more break up tips. “You’ve already started drinking, Sophie?” she noted with a smirk.

Sophie checked her watch. “It’s three o’clock! Back home, it’s eight already. So actually, I’m running late.”

Pippa and I giggled and Sophie led us into the huge house. The way it was decorated reminded me of the Prince’s Palace in Monaco. Harry and I had gone in the springtime on vacation. We’d done the lift from _Dirty Dancing_ in the ocean. Now, my heart gave a violent tug at the memory.

“Grant! Darling! Pippa’s here!” Sophie called into the open house. I didn’t think it was reasonable that Grant would possibly hear her, wherever he may have been in this mansion.

Proving me wrong, however, a male voice answered back, “Brilliant! Just a moment, darling!”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “The man works so much you’d hardly know he was on holiday.”

“What does your husband do?” I asked, not sure if this question was appropriate or not, and I didn’t really care either way. If Grant’s job got him this house and those cars, maybe I should consider a career change.

Leading us through the house into the kitchen, Sophie answered, “Richard Branson’s taxes.” 

“Oh,” I stupidly replied. I wasn’t really sure how doing taxes for rich people made someone else rich, but it hardly mattered. If you were rubbing elbows with Richard Branson, you were probably doing well in life.

Sophie got down two wine glasses and poured Pippa and I pinot grigio. We were clinking our glasses together when a man (who was sexy in that older man, George Clooney, Daniel Craig way) came into the kitchen. “Hello there, Pippa. Lovely to see you again.” He greeted her with the same kisses Sophie had.

“And this is Roxy,” Sophie told him.

Grant and I shook hands and he frowned. “Have I met you before? Your face looks familiar.”

I turned brick red and Sophie scoffed. “Grant, you stupid ass. She was dating Prince Harry for a year.”

“Not a year,” I quickly corrected her. “Eight months.” It was less than that, even. Harry and I had been just friends up until March. So we’d really only dated for three months, but I didn’t want to explain our complicated history for Sophie and Grant.

“That was _you_?” Grant asked. I opened my mouth to respond when he nodded, answering his own question. “Oh right, I remember now.”

“Anyway,” Pippa intercepted for me again, "Roxy and I came here for a break from dreary London.”

“I _know_ ,” Sophie sympathized. “Why do you think we moved? You really _must_ come to the States more often, Pippa. It’s so much _freer_ here.”

Kate, Sophie, Grant and I all sat around the kitchen table. “Well I’d love to,” Pippa confessed, "but my life right now depends on the Cambridges. When they start being full-time royals, I’ll have to be there for Kate. Or when they have a baby, whatever comes first.”

“Are they trying? Because according to _The Sun_ , she’s been pregnant for about sixteen months,” Sophie snickered.

Pippa rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s absurd, the things they print. Aren’t they embarrassed? To be selling just outright lies to people?”

“The paycheck probably makes up for any embarrassment,” Grant answered.

My phone rang and, anxious to get away from the topic of the tabloids (which hadn’t always been kind to me), I excused myself. It was Bianca. “Hey B.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing. We just got here. Isn’t it almost midnight there?” I asked.

“Yes. I am so bored,” she whined. “Mum and Paul went out to dinner and I’ve been in the hotel.”

“Well why didn’t you go out to dinner with them?”

Bianca made a disgusted noise. “Paul after a few glasses of wine is even more unbearable than regular Paul.” Rolling my eyes, I encouraged her to describe Venice to me, hoping to take both of our minds off the things we’d rather not think about.

***

The next morning, I woke up and went down to breakfast to find Sophie making waffles for Pippa and Grant. “Roxy? Waffles?” she offered.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Coffee’s on the table,” with the spatula she was using on the Waffles, she pointed to the coffee urn.  
I sat next to Pippa, who was texting someone while Grant read _The Wall Street Journal_. “Will and Kate say hi,” Pippa told me.  
“Tell them I miss them,” I automatically dictated to her.

As Pippa typed out the message, she talked slowly what she was texting. “Roxy… misses…you…she says…threesome…when she gets back.”

“Pippa! Delete that!” I laughed.

She gave me a fake wince. “Ooh, already sent it. Awkward.”

I gave her a playful shove before Sophie joined us at the table with three plates of waffles for us and oatmeal and half a grapefruit for her. “Why couldn’t they join us?” Sophie asked as Pippa and I tucked into our waffles.

Shrugging, Pippa answered, “Not sure. Kate said they have to do something for one of their patronages this week.” When she said this, however, she gave me a kick under the table, letting me know that she was now aware of the real reason the Cambridges had stayed behind.

When we were finished with breakfast, Sophie, Pippa and I headed down to the beach. Grant stayed behind to work. We’d been baking in the sun for a while when Sophie said she was hot and going to take a dip in the Atlantic. Pippa and I declined and, when Sophie was in the water and safely out of earshot, Pippa finally spoke up. “So, how are things?” she asked. 

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“Kate told me. But don’t worry – it’s only me,” she quickly assured me when I winced.

Surprisingly, I felt relieved. I hadn’t had anyone around to talk to about it, and as great as it was being distracted, I couldn’t help feeling nervous about what was going on back home. Shaking my head, I admitted, “I don’t really know what’s going on. I haven’t spoken to them about it since I got kicked out, just a little to Kate at your spa day.”

“You got kicked out of Kensington Palace?” Pippa asked, amused.

“Well, not really,” I admitted. “The doctor just thought it would be best because he…” I trailed off, considering whether or not I wanted to tell Pippa about what the doctor thought. Eventually, I decided that I wanted her opinion on it. “Harry’s doctor says…well he says that Harry and I were in a co-dependant relationship. And he says that I came to London because I felt like Harry was just an extension of myself, and I felt like I couldn’t be whole without him.”

“That’s quite romantic,” Pippa noted.

“Is it?” I asked, doubtful. “Because the doctor thinks it’s like, really unhealthy.”

She shrugged. “Can’t it be both?” At my unamused expression, she gave me a playful shove. “I’m just trying to look on the bright side.”

“What’s the bright side?”

“The bright side is that you found your other half!” she pointed out. “That’s not even a real thing, it’s just a romantic cliché people talk about at weddings. Only you _really_ did it. You _really_ found it.”

“And then I lost it,” I countered.

Pippa thought about this for a few seconds before slowly asking, “So…you’re not together then?”

“Why?” I smirked, tilting my face up towards the sun. “You interested?”

She gave me another shove. “Oh, please. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” I assured her. “I’m only joking. Besides, after the way I saw him I’m pretty sure no woman would want to deal with that.” The memory of patting Harry’s back while he vomited up his breakfast made me queezy. “It’s tough, though, not knowing what’s going on. His doctor says that I should just remove myself from the situation, but what am I supposed to do? Just cut myself off from my best friends and not care about Harry after all this time?”

“Of course not!” Pippa encouraged. “You’re not cutting yourself off from your friends. You’re here with me, aren’t you? You can still be friends with all of us. It’s just not a good idea for you to be all…wrapped up in that. I mean, think about it Roxy. You have school to think about. That’s always come first in your life.”

“Yeah, except now I’m not in school, so I have nothing to do except sit around and worry about Harry,” I pointed out.

Pippa gestured to the ocean. “Roxy, we’re in the Hamptons. There’s a _lot_ of things to be doing that don’t include worrying about your ex-boyfriend.” I reluctantly agreed with her before she carefully asked, “Do you think…do you think you maybe knew? About the addiction, and that’s why you broke things off? Even just subconsciously?”

I let out a deep breath. It wasn't the first time I'd considered this. “Well, I definitely knew about something, but I didn’t know how bad it was. When we broke up I told him that it seemed like he was always drinking. I didn’t notice it for a while because we’re always, you know, just hanging out with bottles of wine or something. But the weekend of the wedding, the day when we were all so sick after Boujis, he kept drinking bloody Marys the next morning. And…that was when it sort of clicked for me that there was something wrong.”

Nodding understandingly, Pippa gave me a sympathetic look. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it sounds like you did the right thing,” she told me with an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. She could tell, though, that I wasn’t totally convinced. “What?”

I felt my eyes stinging and my bottom lip started to tremble. I was unable to stop it, so I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. Pippa patted my back as I choked out a couple of sobs, hoping against hope that no one had pulled out a cell phone camera. Luckily for me, people who went to the Hamptons weren’t the sort of people who needed to sell photos to the tabloids for money. Finally, I sat back up and wiped the tears off my face. “So let’s say Dr. R is right, and Harry was just another part of me. Now what? I’m just supposed to go around, feeling like part of me is missing? I’m just supposed to go back to life before I knew him? Before I was here? That was…that sucked!” I settled on, even though there was probably a more eloquent way to express that feeling.

Pippa paused before asking, “Have you ever heard of the red string of fate?” At my confused look, she chuckled before explaining. “So, there’s this Japanese myth that the gods tie this invisible red thread to your pinky finger.” For further explanation, she wiggled her pinky at me.

“Wait a minute, if it’s invisible, how do you know it’s red? Or on your pinky?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Roxy, it’s just the way the story goes. Anyway, they tie this string around your pinky, and the people connected by the same thread are destined to be together. Sometimes the string stretches, sometimes it gets tangled, sometimes it probably gets snagged on a zipper here or a bracelet there. But it never breaks. The people who are tied to it are always going to come back to each other, regardless of time, or place, or addiction, or sobriety.” I wiped away more tears as Sophie made her way back to us from the ocean. “Anyway, you know I know now, so if you want to talk.”

“Thanks,” I told her, and leaned back in my beach chair, closing my eyes and trying not to feel anything but the sun beating down on me. As I felt my body get warmer, I wondered if my red thread was still there, or if someone had taken scissors to it.

***

Back at home later that night, Sophie and Grant had gone out to some party that someone fabulous was throwing. They’d invited Pippa and I to come along, but I didn’t think I had anything to wear and Pippa didn’t seem that into it. “Really?” I asked. “You can go, I’ll be fine.”

Pippa waved a hand. “Please. These things are always rich old ladies drunk on pinot grigio, and some Real Housewife will get into a fight with another Real Housewife. Not exactly my idea of entertainment.”

So we were alone in the huge house. I was reading while Pippa scrolled the gossip blogs. “Look, this article says we’re partying in the Hamptons,” she said, turning her laptop around. Someone had taken a picture of us sipping vodka lemonades on the beach. “Little do they know we’re actually being quite tame in the Hamptons.”  
“You know, if the press actually knew me, they would be so bored and disappointed,” I assessed.

Pippa snickered. “I know, right?” She closed her laptop and went into the kitchen. When she emerged, she was holding two cosmos. “Come on, let’s prove them right.”

“Pippa, I really don’t feel like…”

“I know you don’t feel like, but I think a dance party is just what you need.” Pippa saw my smirk before I could hide it. We usually had Kate and Bianca to have Spice Girls sing-alongs with us, but for now, the two of us would have to do. “And I know the exact song.” She went over to the ridiculously hi-tech sound system and turned a few knobs. After a minute, the opening chords of We Are Never Getting Back Together came on. I laughed and got off the couch, sipping my incredibly strong cosmo. We laughed and sang along to the catchy pop song. It was the first time I felt normal in a really long time.

***

The Middleton sisters were right – the week in the Hamptons was exactly what I needed. I finally let myself relax and enjoy the beach and the dinner parties. Pippa and been right about that, too; it was a lot of old, rich people talking about how they were old and rich. By the end of the week, a real tan had replaced my spray tan, and the Jersey girl in be felt much better. I got the occasional phone call from Bianca, who seemed to be enjoying her time in Venice so long as she wasn’t spending any of it with Paul or her mother.

We were leaving on Sunday, and on Saturday I was driving into the City to meet my mom and Grace for lunch. “Do you want to take one of the cars?” Grant offered. I had learned that inside the garage along with the Tesla and the Lambo, there was a Porsche and a Ferrari.  
“Oh, no, I’ll just take the Jitney,” I assured them. The Jitney was the bus that ran from the City to the Hamptons for all of the weekend commuters.

“No, take one,” Grant pressed.

“Really, it’s okay. I can’t drive stick anyhow.”

“So take the Tesla, no transmission,” Sophie informed me, and before I could decline once more, she had pressed the key fob (shaped like a tiny car) into my palm.  
When I got to the restaurant, Grace and Mom were already there. It was instinct to greet them in the same way Sophie had greeted Pippa and I. “Oh, so European,” my mom teased as I sat down. I hadn’t even finished rolling my eyes when she asked, “So how are you doing, Rock?”

“Fine,” I answered, not feeling like I was lying for once.

My mom gave me a suspicious look. “You broke up with your boyfriend of a year and we’re supposed to believe you’re just fine?”

“First of all, he was my boyfriend for three months.”

Grace scoffed. “He seemed pretty boy-friendly during New Years.”

“Well he wasn’t,” I shut her down.

“Fine, whatever,” she ceded. “So you’re just fine?”

I looked from her to my mother. They were both showing skeptical expressions. “Yes!” I insisted. “We broke up over a month ago. I’m fine.”

They looked at each other as if to say, “Well, if she insists.” Then, Grace asked, “So what are the Hamptons like? Have you seen P. Diddy?”

Laughing, I told Grace regretfully that I had not. “Why haven’t you ever been there?” I asked curiously. She and her husband, Ray, certainly had the cash for a week’s vacation, if not a house.

“We’ve got the beach house in Hyannis Port,” she reminded me. Hyannis Port was a preppy beach town in Massachusetts. It had become a popular travel destination after being made famous by the Kennedys. They had a family compound there, and Grace, Ray, and their three-year-old son Eddie had run into various members of America’s royalty at the local ice cream shop. I’d been there a handful of times and had once even spotted the boys playing football in the sand. The Kennedys, I thought, may have been the one family in the world more crazy and fucked-up than Harry’s. At least nobody in Harry’s family had been assassinated…not lately, anyway.


	54. Here Comes The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Pippa and I parted ways on Sunday at Heathrow. “Everything will be okay, Rox,” she gave my hands an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t be afraid to lose us, we’re here for you.”

More grateful for her than ever, I gave her a hug. “I love you, Pip.”

“Love you, too. Call me!” she demanded as I hopped into a cab.

When I got back to the apartment, Bianca was already there. “B!” I called through the house. “ _Please_ tell me you brought home some delicious Italian _vino_!”

I had hardly put my suitcase down when Bianca swooped in and placed a glass of red wine in my hand. “Have I ever done you wrong?” she asked.

With a flat glare, I reminded her, “Yeah, remember that one time you made me go out to celebrate the royal engagement?”

Bianca waved her hand. “Oh, that was one time,” she over-simplified. I laughed and we sat on the couch in front of the TV. “Come on, tell me all about the Hamptons. Did you see P. Diddy?” she asked the same question Grace had.

Chuckling, I answered Bianca’s question in the negative. “But it was fun. I got to relax. We had Taylor Swift dance parties.”

“Jealous!” Bianca broke in.

With a sigh, I continued, “I think I’m finally starting to feel normal again, and less like someone put my life in a box and shook it up.”

“Good!” she said, maybe a bit more enthusiastically than I would have expected.

“How much wine have you had?” I asked with a smirk.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she evaded my question.

“So how was your vacation?”

She shrugged. “It was fine. As long as Paul stayed out of my way.”

“Okay B, I have _got_ to ask. _What_ is your problem with him?” As long as I’d known Bianca, I had written off her abhorrent dislike of her step-father as the common resentment towards a step-parent. Honestly though, even Harry and William liked Camilla more than B liked Paul, and _that_ was saying something.

Bianca shrugged and flicked a piece of lint off her thumb. “He’s just a creep.”

“Bianca, you call everyone a creep,” I pointed out.

“Okay, he’s a wanker. He’s a tosser. He’s…not good,” she finished, unable to think of any more unflattering adjectives. I laughed at her lame assessment and we drank wine, showing each other pictures from our respective vacations. When we trudged up the stairs to bed, Bianca let out a groan. “I can’t believe we have to go back to school on Thursday.”

“Don’t remind me,” I begged. “I haven’t danced since spring shop.”

“Neither have I!” B pointed out. “And that’s just because I was being lazy. At least for you there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Yeah, we’ll see if Madam sees it that way.”

***

“Roxy! Are you ready to go?” Bianca called up from the front door. She was waiting for me to go over to Pippa’s for a _Sex and the City_ night. Since my break up, we’d had a lot of these, complete with cosmos and some tears shed for the sad state of both mine and Carrie Bradshaw’s love lives.

“Yeah!” I called back down from my bedroom, grabbing my purse and jogging down the stairs. 

“Why did you put make up on? It’s just us,” Bianca pointed out. That was easy for her to say – Bianca had that sort of pallet-like face on high-fashion models. Whenever I hung out with she and the Middleton sisters without make up, I felt like Ursula from _The Little Mermaid_. 

We took the tube over to Pippa’s apartment in Chelsea, which actually used to be Kate’s apartment before she and William had gotten engaged. Pippa opened the front door with a wide grin and when we walked in, there was a shout of, “Surprise!” I blinked, wondering who we were surprising for a minute before noticing the banner strung up in the kitchen that read, “Happy Birthday Roxy!” My mouth dropped open as I looked across Pippa’s apartment. Harry’s friend Piers was there, as well as Kate’s mother, Carole, and Will and Kate. Piers and William were a surprised indeed. Piers was Harry’s friend, and I had assumed he’d stay that way post-break-up, and I hadn’t seen William since my ejection from KP. In fact, I’d nearly forgotten that I was turning nineteen.

With a pang, I remembered that Harry had made plans for how we were going to celebrate my birthday. We’d been on the flight back from our spring break vacation to Monaco, and I’d had a brief panic attack over my fear that our relationship would soon sour, the way it had after winter break. Trying to assure me that things would be fine, Harry had started reminding me of all that we had to look forward to. “You’ll have summer break, and we can go to Necker, and have another fantastic vacation. Maybe we can go back to the States, visit your mum and Grace. Then before you know it, it’ll be your birthday in August and Kate and I will throw you the biggest party you’ve ever been to.” This wasn’t the biggest party I’d ever been to, but it was the best by far.

“Oh my God, guys,” I got out. Carole and Michael Middleton had made millions by starting up a mail-order party business. Carole had decorated the apartment with ballerina-themed décor; on every surface was confetti in the shape of dancers, pink paper plates with ballet slippers on them for hors douvres. On the kitchen table sat several gift-wrapped presents. My eyes stung as I looked around the room. “Wow,” was all I could manage to breathe out.

Carole took the lead, handing me a light pink cocktail and kissing my cheek. “Happy birthday darling.”

“Th…thank you,” I stammered. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Of course not, but it is my job, after all.”

I went around the room saying hello to everyone. Things got a bit awkward with Piers. He was usually side by side with their other friend, Guy, who was notably absent. I didn’t blame anyone else but Harry for his problems, but Guy was your classic enabler. “Happy birthday, Rox,” Piers beamed at me.

“Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure. Didn’t want you to think I’d jumped ship just because you broke up with my best mate.” It was awkward, but well-intentioned, and I wondered how much Piers knew, if any, of Harry’s present condition.

William greeted me with a firm handshake (like he’d been trained to do since he’d mastered his motor skills as an infant) and a kiss on both cheeks. “Happy birthday, Roxanna.”

“Thanks,” I smiled at him through my tears. “Thanks for being here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised.

Once I’d said hello to all my party guests, Pippa clapped her hands together. “Presents! Presents!” she demanded, sitting me down on her couch. The guests all retrieved their gifts and joined us in the living room. Piers had gotten me an elaborate latte machine, which Bianca promptly took over, enthusiastic and eager to install it in our new kitchen. Her gift was a new pair of leg warmers, a dozen toe pads, and a new ballet skirt and sweater. “For a fresh start,” the card read, and I couldn’t have needed the reminder more. Carole gave me a fuzzy pair of comfy slippers and a new silk bathrobe. William’s gift was a basket full of everything I’d need to create my own home spa – bath salts, bubble bath, an exfoliating mask, lavender-scented candles. I figured he knew more than anyone that I would need all the help I could get to relax. Pippa pushed her bag under my nose and I pulled out two bottles of vintage malbec and the complete series of Sex and the City on DVD. When I thanked her she told me there was more. Rummaging around in the bag, I pulled out a CD that read, “Roxy’s Rockin’ Playlist!” on the face. She’d listed the songs on the back. The CD clearly had a break-up theme: “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson, “Part of Me,” by Katy Perry, “Always Be my Baby” by Mariah, and of course, “I Will Survive,” to name a few. Kate’s gift was a gift card to Top Shop and a framed picture of the two of us laughing our heads off at her wedding reception, at something hilarious that I couldn’t remember now. The picture somehow got through exactly how happy I was at that moment, on the day that I’d watched two of my best friends vow to love each other forever in front of millions of people, the night that my sweet, adoring boyfriend had told me he loved me, the time when I’d found the other person on the other end of the thread tied around my little finger. 

After I’d opened all of my presents, Pippa disappeared, only to return with a cake in the shape of pointe shoes lit with sparklers. And as I sat there surrounded by friends who had become family, I thought that maybe – just maybe – all of the tears and all of the heartache had been worth it.

***

The first couple of days of the next week, Bianca and I tried to go back to school for a few hours to practice a bit before classes started again. Apparently, every other student at RBA had the same idea. Every practice studio was jammed from mirror-to-mirror with girls trying to get in some last-minute practice. Even though Harry and I had broken up back in June, and it was now August, the rest of the girls didn’t mind having a gawp at me as I laced up my pointe shoes. “I don’t get it! I’m not dating him anymore!” I complained to Bianca one night.

“Fame doesn’t go away overnight,” she quipped.

“Oh really? I’m pretty sure it does. Just ask Cory Haim.”

Bianca blinked. “He’s dead.”

“Okay, then ask the other one.”

“What was his name? Corey what?” she squinted, trying to remember.

“Exactly,” I solidified my point.

On Thursday, we were up bright and early to catch the tube to campus in Covent Garden. Now that we didn’t live on campus, we had to enter and exit through the front gate, just like everyone else. B and I both paused for a minute, just staring up at the daunting, wrought-iron gates. “It seems so empty without a million paparazzi around it,” Bianca noted.

Unable to share her nostalgia for the predators who were constantly hoping to catch me on a fat day, I rolled my eyes. “Come on. Let’s face the music.” Looping my arm through hers, we headed into school.

The second year class took the exact same spots on the barre as we had in our first year while we waited for Madam. When she did sweep in, she looked just as we’d left her – dressed head to tow in black, her slightly graying hair up in a messy bun, the same scowl on her face. “Bonjour ladies,” she greeted us with a tight-lipped smile. “I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.” Then, right down to business, she added, “And I hope none of you forgot to practice over the break.” I averted my eyesight as Madam demonstrated the first conditioning warm-up of our second year.

***

After our first Saturday morning practice of the term, Bianca and I met up with the Middeton sisters for brunch at Pippa’s. “So how’d your first week go?” Kate asked. I noticed that she was looking much better – more refreshed, like she’d actually been getting sleep.

“It kicked my ass,” I admitted. “I don’t know _what_ I was thinking, slacking off all summer.”

“You were thinking that getting Harry off heroin was probably more important,” Pippa reminded me.

“Oh yeah,” I light-heartedly agreed. “That.”

“So how is he?” Bianca asked Kate, popping a strawberry in her mouth. I actually felt guilty about what she was eating – or rather, what I was eating. I’d filled my plate with bacon, eggs, and toast with jam. Bianca had opted for a fruit cup and some tea. I probably should have followed her lead. I didn’t want to be coming back to school out of practice _and_ out of shape.

Kate nodded. “You know, I think he is getting better. The other day Willie and I walked past the gym, and he was working out to ‘Gold Digger.’ He hasn’t broken out the Kanye West since before you two broke up,” she gestured to me. “The doctor says he’s been improving. Pretty soon he says he’ll be well enough to step out alone for one of his patronages.”

“Alone?” I gulped. These charity functions often came with an open bar.

“Mhm,” Kate confirmed. She had stuck with fruit and egg whites. God dammit! Why was I so fat? “He says that it’s like an alcoholic going out to a restaurant. I mean, he’s going to have to go out in public eventually.”

“Yeah, but…isn’t it a little soon?”

Kate reached out and gave my shoulder a rub. “Don’t worry. If Dr. R says it’s okay, I trust him.”

I trusted Dr. R, too, but, as we left Pippa’s and went back to our apartment, I couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. I’d stuck by Harry’s bedside. I’d patted his back while he vomited. I’d literally picked him up off the floor. Not to metion that, like a jackass, I’d told him I loved him right before he’d cut me out of his life. True, Dr. R had told me to leave, not Harry, but he’d also said that Harry and I could still be friends. The only reason we weren’t was because I didn’t want to interrupt his recovery. If Harry wanted to keep in touch with me, he would have, but he wasn’t. Addiction or no addiction, recovery or no recovery, it was as simple as that. So I’d gotten all of the shitty parts: the vomit, the violence, the rude behavior, and sometimes, literally, the shit. Now Kate and Will and Prince Charles and Dr. R were all getting Happy Harry, Exercising Harry, Kanye West-Listening Harry. The thought stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t know if it was because I was missing Harry’s recovery, or just missing Harry.

***

Bianca and I took the tube to and from school every morning, which I actually really enjoyed. During my first year in London, I hadn’t been able to. Well, I hadn’t _wanted_ to, really. Every time I got on the train, someone would snap a picture of me, mid-yawn, with a cell phone camera and I’d end up looking disheveled in _The Telegraph_. It took a couple of months, but I’d faded into relative obscurity and could take public transportation once again.

One morning, we were waiting for the train when a tabloid cover caught my eye. Harry was on it, and he was looking somewhat normal again. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes clear and blue. It almost made me smile…but the headline made my stomach drop straight to my toes and then bounce back up into my throat. Reaching out, I threw a fiver at the vendor and tore through the magazine. _Prince Harry Steps Out For Sentebale With New Flame Cressida Bonas!_ Before me, Harry had been in a long-term relationship with a South African, Chelsy Davy. She had an all-year-round suntan and long, golden locks. All of the other girls he’d been rumored to have had romantic trysts with had been the same, physically; tall, leggy, waifish blondes. So it had always been odd to me that Harry had taken an interest in a short, knobby American with frizzy black hair. Apparently, he’d snapped out of whatever delusion he’d been under when we’d been dating, and was back to normal, with this new girl, Cressida, who was much more his type. All of a sudden, I felt like I wanted to throw up, or jump in front of the on-coming subway train.

“Rox?” Bianca approached me. As soon as she saw what I was reading, she snatched the tabloid out of my hand. “What are you doing, reading this rubbish?”

“It’s not rubbish, B,” I corrected her in a low voice. “There are pictures. She was _there_.”

“So what? Maybe Will or Kate invited her,” she suggested.

“No, it was a trip he took alone, remember?”

Bianca stuffed _The Sun_ into her dance bag. “It’s rubbish, it’s not rubbish – who cares? You don’t need to be looking at this before class.”

I agreed with her there. It would be better if I could read if after school in the privacy of my own home. With vodka.

***

I could have called Will and Kate for confirmation of _The Sun_ claims, but the only thing that I could think of that was more embarrassing than the article was admitting that I’d read it. Instead, I drank vodka on the rocks, wept, and let Bianca hug me while my whole body shook. “It’s n-not f-f-fair!” I sobbed.

“I know, Roxy. I know,” she crooned.

“How can he m-m-move on s-so fast?” I asked, knowing that she couldn’t answer this question. “We j-just broke up!”

Since Bianca couldn’t offer any words that would make me feel better, she didn’t try to. “I know it hurts,” she told me, “but it’ll get better. You’ll move on, too.”

I wanted to ask her how she was so sure. Maybe people were only allowed a certain amount of love in one lifetime, and I’d used all mine on Harry. Not to mention that I’d been was eighteen years old before I’d found someone who wanted to be romantically involved with me for any extended period of time. Was it going to be another eighteen years before someone wanted to do it again? And even when they did, even if I did move on, it wouldn’t be the same. Because it wouldn’t be Harry. It wouldn’t be his mischievous grin, his lightening eyes, his warm body draped over mine. It wouldn’t be his low, husky voice murmuring, “Roxanna, my darling.” It wouldn’t be his strong arms holding me when I was sad or exhausted, his rough hands running through my hair, his bittersweet cigarette and whiskey kiss. It wouldn’t be the person on the other end of my string. It would never be Harry again.


	55. Lovers Hold On To Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Figure 8" by Ellie Goulding
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Breathe your smoke into my lungs._  
_In the back of the car with you I stare into the sun._  
_Still not too old to die young._  
_The lovers hold on to everything._  
_And lovers hold on to everything._

“Beautiful extension Roxanna. Girls, is everybody watching her? This is how your extensions should look – one straight line to your toe. No bending, no wobbles.” For once, all of the girls were looking at me and I wasn’t blushing. 

When Madam asked me to stay after class, it was the first time that I wasn’t afraid of being reprimanded. “It’s good to see you back to your old self, Roxanna,” she noted. 

We’d gone through a rough patch together, Madam and I. But we’d gotten through it, just like I would get through this. 

_I chased your love around a figure eight._  
_I need you more than I can take._  
_You promised forever and a day,_  
_and then you take it all away._  
_And then you take it all away._

“Roxy, it’s Kate. _Please_ call me back. I’m afraid you’ve seen the tabloids and I don’t want you to…just give me a ring, okay?”

_Place a kiss on my cheekbone._  
_Then you vanish me. I’m buried in the snow._  
_But something tells me I’m not alone._  
_But lovers hold on to everything._  
_And lovers hold on to anything._

By September, I was done crying. I was done being sad. I’d moved on to another emotion: I was pissed. 

Fuck Harry. I’d been there for him through _everything_. _I’d_ nursed him back to health. _I’d_ sat by his bedside. _I’d_ wrestled him down after he’d lunged at Kate. And _I’d_ pushed him off of me when he threatened to…to…well anyway, fuck him

And fuck Kate. She’d called two issues of _The Sun_ , an issue of _The Mirror_ , and an entire spread in _Hello!_ too late. If she were really my friend, she would have called me to tell me _before_ the Sentebale fundraiser. 

And fuck Cressida. Fuck the girl who got to enjoy the fruits of _my_ labors 

_I chased your love around a figure eight._  
_I need you more than I can take._  
_You promised forever and a day,_  
_and then you take it all away._  
_And then you take it all away._

“Roxy, it’s William. Look, we…Catherine and I…well, you know the tabloids are full of rubbish. You’ve been on the other end of this before. Just ring us back, hear us out. We can explain.” 

I put William on the list of people I was pissed at. How _dare_ he? When Harry had overdosed, and William had looked to someone else to call the shots for the first time in his life, that person had been _me_. And even after all that, I apparently didn’t deserve even one fucking _phone call_ saying, “Hey Roxy, F.Y.I., Harry’s with someone else, and she looks like a Bond girl. Bye!” Well fuck William. 

_So lovers hold on to everything._  
_And lovers hold on to anything._

“Lovely Roxanna, Marcus, just lovely. Everyone, look at Roxy and Marcus. _This_ is the kind of _chemistry_ you should be _exuding_ with your pas de deux partner. Look at her _passion_. You can feel every emotion. Beautiful, Roxy. Well done, you two.” 

__So lovers hold on to everything._  
_And lovers hold on to anything._ _

By November, I was…I was everything. I was sad. And I was still pissed. But mostly, I was dancing. 

___I chased your love around a figure eight._  
_I need you more than I can take._  
_You promised forever and a day,_  
_and then you take it all away._  
_And then you take it all away._


	56. The London School of Economics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Last November, I’d cooked Thanksgiving dinner for the royals and Bianca, and she encouraged me to do it again. I didn't know if she actually felt like eating all of that food (she was getting a lot better at watching what she ate than we had been last year...and than I was being now) or if she just thought it would give me something to do besides sulk all day and night. “You should do it again!”   
“You know, I’m not feeling very thankful these days,” I told her, flipping a page in my biology textbook. “Besides, I thought you were doing some stupid Atkins diet or something.” 

“It’s the Dukan diet. Kate did it for the wedding,” she corrected me.

Kate had absolutely _not_ done the Dukan diet before the wedding. Rumors had circulated that she had, because a friend of a friend had given Carole the book. Kate had slimmed down before the wedding, but it was mostly due to stress. If two million people were going to watch you get married to the man who would be king, you’d be stressed, too. “Bianca, you _know_ that was just a rumor. We were with her all the time before the wedding. And that diet sounds fucking crazy.”

She plopped down on next to me on the couch. “You know, you were a lot nicer when you were getting laid.”

I chuckled. “Sorry. My last thing didn’t work out too well. Traumatizing, really, so I’m not _dying_ to get back out there.” Bianca had a point, though. I was different now. It wasn’t a huge difference, but it was a difference. I’d spent more of last year feeling like I’d been wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy blanket, which was apparently because I had been in a co-dependant relationship with my boyfriend. Now, not only had we broken up, but he’d pointed to the door when I told him I loved him, shortly before he started dating someone else, which all of my friends had conveniently forgotten to tell me. So yes, I was not the same person I was last year. I wasn’t attached to some magical, invisible thread like Pippa had suggested. I wasn’t spending every day next to my soul mate. The days all just blended into the last. London wasn’t a novelty anymore, it wasn’t the place where I’d finally found my other half, my missing piece. It was just a rainy, dreary city where I lived.

Bianca took a sip of her tea. “Have you heard from Kate?” I gave her a warning look. “Roxy,” she whined. “You _have_ to make things right with her.”

“ _I_ have to make things right with _her_?” I asked, infuriated. “She was the one who didn’t let me know that Harry was dating Miss Universe 2011!”

“Okay, okay.” She thought about what she was going to say before rephrasing. “You two need to talk things out.”

“Why?”

“Because! What happens when Pippa invites us out?”

“I don’t go, just like I haven’t gone for the past two months.” Pippa had invited us to dinner parties, brunches, shopping trips. I’d declined every time, unable to trust myself around Kate. I was pissed. Rational or not, I was pissed, and the last thing I wanted to do was get in a catfight in the middle of Whistles.

“Right, but then _I_ feel guilty for going.” She’d confessed this to me before.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” I repeated the same assurance I’d been giving her for a month.

“I _know_ , but I do! And everything gets awkward because Kate asks about you and I can tell she’s really hurt!”

“Well maybe she should have thought about that before she neglected to tell me that Harry was with Cressida,” I spat.

“Maybe there was a misunderstanding! You have to talk to her about it, Roxy.”

“I really don’t.”

“Fine, then what are you going to do? Cut all of your friends out of your life? Will, Kate, Pippa,” she rattled off, counting on her fingers.

“I still have friends.”

“Who?”

I paused. “You.”

“Great. You have one friend. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“No, because apparently I’ve only really ever had one friend this whole time.”

“Roxy, you _know_ that’s not true. She invited you to the wedding, for God’s sake! You just have to _talk_ to her.”

Maybe Bianca was right. Maybe this was all just one big misunderstanding. If I stopped to think about it for a minute, I probably would have realized that I was being irrational, and I would talk to the Cambridges, and I wouldn’t be mad at them anymore. But I needed somebody to be mad at. ‘Cuz boy, was I mad.

***

It didn’t help my somewhat irrational rage that every morning there was a new story about Harry and Cressida in the papers. One Sunday morning, as Bianca and I made for the school library to study for finals, _The Mail on Sunday_ reported that things between them were apparently getting serious, and there could be an engagement soon. I didn’t believe that any more than I had believed the rumors about Harry and I getting engaged, but it still stung. 

I was relieved to have faded into obscurity, because it meant that I could go places without being stared at. For the first couple weeks of school, that element of my life with Harry hadn’t changed. It seemed like everywhere I went, people were watching me, waiting for me to break down and sob about my lost love. I never did…in public, anyway. I saved the times when I was going to be a hot mess for the comfort of my own apartment. After a while, the stares had stopped, and I had gone back to just being another student at school. When these stories about Harry and Cressida flared up in the press, however, I went back to feeling like I was the Royal Ballet Academy’s very own psych experiment, which was how I felt after _The Mail on Sunday_ piece. One evening when Bianca and I were preparing for finals in the library, I could hear all of the girls whispering about me, _literally_ behind my back. They weren’t even being discreet about it. 

“Do you think she read it?”

“Of _course_ she read it.”

“Poor thing.”

Finally, I got up and slammed my book shut.

“Where are you going?” Bianca asked as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.

“I don’t know. Maybe back to the house,” I told her. Gesturing to the group of girls giving me pitying looks, I explained, “I’m done being the circus freak attraction for today.”

Bianca turned to look at the girls, who immediately looked away. “Rox, come on, don’t let them bother you. You have to study,” she insisted.

“Well I don’t have to do it here. I’m fine. I’ll see you at home,” I assured her. I had every intention of going back to the apartment when I left the library, but then I remembered something Dr. Rosenblum had said when I was at KP. I’d had trouble sleeping and he’d suggested keeping my bedroom a stress-free area in hopes to cure my insomnia. _Damn._ It occurred to me that the London School of Economics wasn’t far from our campus. That's where all the smart people went, so surely their library would be a calm, quiet place to focus. I hopped on the tube and came out near their library. There was no reason I couldn’t be there, just because I didn’t go to the school. No one was checking student I.D.s, so I walked right in like I belonged there. 

I wasn’t sure if they were on the same exam schedule as us or not, but they didn’t seem to be. The library wasn’t full of students, but the ones who were scattered in clusters looked like they’d been there without sleeping for weeks. LSE was one of the best schools on the planet, so I wasn’t surprised. I wandered around for a while before settling on an empty table on the third floor, which was almost completely unpopulated. None of the kids even glanced up at me, let alone did a jaw-dropping double take. Everyone here was worried about real things. I would have been surprised if any of these kids even knew who I was. They didn’t look like they read _Hello!_ a lot. 

After a while, I had lost track of time, but I had most of my French flashcards memorized, and my history notes were getting easier to remember. When I finally did peer at my watch, I realized that it was almost ten. I muttered a, “Holy crap,” to myself before packing up my laptop and books. I was jogging down the stairs when a man came around the corner and gestured for me to stop. I did, instantly feeling guilty. He was wearing a nametag and a LSE I.D. around his neck. He obviously worked in the library and was about to kick me out. 

“You don’t go here, do you?” he asked.

Biting my lip, I shook my head. “Caught me...”

“I didn’t think so,” he nodded, and I noticed that he had an Irish accent. His strawberry blonde hair was shaggy and he had a five o’clock shadow. “I’ve never seen you around, and I would have noticed such a pretty girl on campus."

I was relieved that he didn’t seem to recognize me, but that only lasted for a second before my paralyzing fear of getting in trouble took over. “I’m sorry. Finals are coming up at my school and the library was just so crowded so I thought it would be okay if I came and...borrowed yours?”

The man looked confused. “You’re not in trouble or anything,” he explained.

“Oh. Okay. Good, then.” I let out a breath and stood there awkwardly. “Well…I was just on my way out.”

“Right,” he nodded. “I hope you found our library most hospitable,” he said with an exaggerated bow. I smiled and went to walk past him. I was turning the corner to go down the flight of stairs when I heard him say, “I’m Ruairi Finnerton. You can come back here any time.” With a wave I jogged back down the stairs and out into the cold.


	57. Last Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The good news was that it was Christmastime. Christmas always made me happy. _Rudolph, It’s a Wonderful Life, and It’s Christmas Charlie Brown!_ were all on TV. Bianca and I watched them, gripping cups of hot chocolate, huddled under a blanket on the couch. We were spending most of our time at the Opera House, since the RBC had started its annual run of _The Nutcracker_. The ballet warmed my heart every time I heard the music. I somehow felt comforted watching Victoria White perform the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Bianca, myself, and the rest of the girls in class were cast as snowflakes and flowers, the same thing we’d done last year. (Most dance schools and companies employed this method because they could flesh out the corps, and they didn't have to pay us.) My mood was lifting, and I just hoped it could stay that way.

One night, Bianca and I were studying when our doorbell rang. Looking at each other in confusion, we shrugged and Bianca got up to answer the door. “Hey!” she greeted Pippa, surprised.

Pippa came in and started to unwrap her layers – hat, scarf, gloves, coat. “Hey ladies. I just wanted to stop by. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” I couldn't ignore the pointed look she shot in my direction.

I forced out a smile at her. “Yeah. I guess I’ve just been busy with school.” It was a lame excuse, and Pippa probably knew it was bullshit, but she didn’t call me out on it.

“Well, what do you say we take a study break and pop this open?” she suggested, producing a bottle of wine from behind her back. “ _And_ I brought _this_.”

When she pulled her ipod out of her purse, Bianca frowned. “Your ipod?”

“Yes! With Pippa’s Poppy Christmas Playlist!”

Laughing, Bianca agreed, “Sounds like a plan! Come on, Rox! Get the wine opener!”

The three of us headed into the kitchen. I was twisting the cork out of the bottle when Pippa – blunt as ever – asked, “So Rox, are you still stone-walling Kate?”

Dropping the cork, I stammered out, “I’m not…I didn’t…I’m not ‘stone-walling’ her.”

“Well you’re doing something,” Bianca muttered. I glared at her.

“Listen, Rox, she told me what happened with the Sentebale fundraiser. Honestly, it all sounds like a misunderstanding to me.”

“What is there to misunderstand? She didn’t tell me. _No one_ told me.” There was a tense silence as I poured three glasses of wine, giving one to Pippa and one to B. “Can we talk about something else now?”

“Sounds like it’s time for Pippa’s Poppy Christmas Playlist!” she declared, heading into the living room to plus her ipod into the speakers. 

Bianca and I followed her. “Okay, but do we have to say the whole thing?” Bianca asked of Pippa’s tongue-twisting title.

Pippa put on her playlist, and Wham! started to play. _How fitting_ , I thought. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away,” Pippa chorused with George Michael. “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”

***

One night after the show I realized that I had a missed call from Grace. A year ago that would have been slightly unusual, but now, not so much. My relationship, and subsequent breakup, with Harry had somehow made us closer. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked when I called her back. It was late my time, but only six o’clock back in Boston.

“I wanted to see if you were coming home for New Years again,” she told me.

“I don’t think so.” Last year, Harry had bought both of us flights across the Atlantic as a Christmas present. This year, there was no Prince Charming with a credit card. “I’m broke, remember?”

“Well I can fly you over,” she offered.

“No, Grace, I can’t ask you to do that.” I had to stop all of these rich people buying me plane tickets. Also, how come everyone around me was rich and I wasn’t? Not. Fair.

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Grace pointed out. “Besides, Mom’s really worried about you.”

I frowned. “What? Why?” Seriously, it was December. Harry and I had been broken up for _six months_. That was _double_ the time we’d been officially dating!

“Because! She’s your mother! And she reads the gossip magazines.” Grace paused, probably waiting for me to be done the eye-roll she knew I was performing. “They’re all saying that Harry’s about to propose to that new girl, what’s her name?”

“Cressida Bonas.”

“Right, her. Plus they’re saying you’re not speaking to Kate.” I didn’t answer her. Cued by my silence, Grace asked, “Is there anything you’d like to refute?’

I shrugged. “I don’t know about Cressida and Harry.”

“Roxy!”

“Grace!” I repeated the same annoying tone she’d just used.

“What happened?”

“Other than that she somehow _forgot_ to tell me that my ex-boyfriend was seeing someone else, and that I was apparently just a weird experiment to see what being with a girl who wasn’t blonde was like?”

Grace sighed. “I assume there’s no use in pointing out to you that all of that is ridiculous.” When I didn’t answer, she moved on. “Well, whatever. I’ll send you an itinerary when I book your flight.”

“Sure.” I hung up with her and turned to Bianca. “You know, I’m _so_ done with everyone giving me advice on something they know _nothing_ about.”

Bianca narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, there’s only one person on the planet who both knows about Harry’s addiction _and_ knows what it’s like to break up with one of the Wales brothers, and _you’re not talking to her_.”

“Because! I’m pissed! There’s no point in talking to her if I’m just going to want to tear her perfect hair out of her perfect skull!”

“I get that, but _why_ are you still so _angry_?” Bianca asked, obviously tired of having this conversation. “It’s been months.”

“And they’re _still_ dating, and she _still_ hasn’t explained.”

“You haven’t given her a chance!”

I glared at Bianca. “Stop making sense. It’s annoying me,” I said, knowing how ridiculous I sounded before turning around and trudging up the stairs to my bedroom.

“It’s good to see you’re being mature about all of this!” she called after me, right before I slammed my door.

***

When I headed into the Opera House three days before Christmas, I was surprised to see some paparazzi scattered about. “What’s going on?” Bianca asked one of them.

“The Middletons are coming to the show,” he told her, either not recognizing her or not caring. “Socialite Lady Bianca Winchester” had been known to pal around with Kate and I. Even Bianca hadn't been immune to the harsh glare of the press. Today, though, they didn’t seem to care.

She linked our arms together and steered us into the Opera House. “You _know_ why they’re here,” she said pointedly to me in the dressing room.

“Because they like ballet,” I muttered through a clenched jaw, putting an end to the conversation. According to the chatter of the other girls, Kate was here with William and her family, but it wasn’t an official engagement, so there didn’t have to be any pictures or anything. I was annoyed, then, to see her, William, and the Middleton clan back stage after the show. If there was no photo op then it was completely unnecessary for them to come back there. “What are they doing?” I hissed at Bianca as we scrubbed our make up off. She shrugged.

“B!” Kate greeted her with a warm hug. “You were lovely!”

“Thanks! I didn’t know you were coming,” she said, greeting the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with cheek-kisses.

“I know, we didn’t want any reporters to find out,” Kate explained. Then the four of us stood around awkwardly. I crossed my arms over my chest.

William cleared his throat. “Good to see you again, Roxanna.”

“Mhm.” Wow. Sassing the future King of England. When had I gotten so bold?

“Guys, could Roxy and I speak alone for a moment?” Kate asked. William gave her a look, and I knew he was telepathically asked her if she’d be okay. She nodded at his unspoken question, and he and Bianca left the communal dressing room. It had emptied of photographers and the other girls had rushed out excitedly after they’d shaken hands with the Duke and Duchess. “You were brilliant tonight.”

In a terse voice, I responded, “Thanks,” but we both knew I may as well have said, “Fuck you.”

“Look, Roxy, I know why you’re angry.”

“Well aren’t you just a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“Roxy, come on. Please.” Kate paused and I threw my hands out, signaling for her to go on. “I didn’t know she was going to be there. I was just as surprised as anyone!”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“I know you must be hurt, but – “

“We really shouldn’t be talking about this here,” I snapped, enraged by Kate assuming that she had any idea of how I was feeling.

“Well you won’t talk to me about it anywhere else,” she snapped back. Sometimes I forgot that Kate had a younger sister and had experience dealing with bratty girls. I glared at her and re-crossed my arms. “I mean, honestly, Roxy. They’re not together, and I think you know that, because I think you know that he’s still not over you.” Kate let this statement hang in the air. After a while, she offered up, “Besides, Dr. R says he shouldn’t even _think_ about being in a relationship for a _long_ time.” Somehow, this statement wasn’t exactly comforting. “Come on. You’re one of my best friends. You were _at my wedding_. I miss you, and it’s been really hard without you.”

Slowly, I felt my resolve crumbling. I was being childish, and selfish. Of course it had been hard without me. I had needed a friend to lean on in this situation, so it was safe to assume that Kate had, too. I might have thought that it was shitty of her not to have told me about Cressida, but it was also shitty of me to leave Kate hanging like that. She must have seen that she was getting somewhere, because she kept going. “I _know_ your life just isn’t the same without Spice Girls dance parties.” My mouth betrayed me by breaking out into a smile. “See?”

Rolling my eyes, I accepted Kate’s explanation. I couldn’t rightly think of it as an apology, since - if she was telling the truth, and I had no reason to not believe her - she hadn’t really done anything wrong. “Okay, okay.” Then I somehow swallowed my pride and muttered, “Sorry I’ve been a stubborn ass.”

Laughing, she hugged me. “You? Stubborn? Surely, you're joking.”

***

I honestly didn’t know who had heard about my talk with Kate, but I was certain that if people knew we were fighting, they’d know when we weren’t, and sure enough our making up somehow found its way into the tabloids. Every time another story cropped up, it apparently turned me into an object of fascination (even though most of the articles were completely mundane information about my life), so I had no desire to go back to the RBA library to feel like I was in a zoo. A few days before our last final, I told Bianca that I was going back to LSE. “Does this have to do with Mr. Cute Irishman, by any chance?” she asked.

“No,” I slowly told her. “I just like their library better.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

When I got back to the LSE library, I headed up to the third floor and hunkered down into the same corner I’d been in before. I was reading about the Battle of Agincourt when someone suggested, “I can tell you how it ends.” I looked up, not entirely surprised to see Ruairi Finnerton standing above me. He was wearing washed-out jeans and a green sweater. His strawberry-blonde hair was still sort of shaggy and messy, but he’d lost the five o’clock shadow he’d had last time. Sitting down next to me, he started, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. Follow your spirit, and upon this charge, cry ‘God for Harry, England, and St. George!’” When I had involuntarily winced, Ruairi smirked. “Not much of a Shakespeare fan?”

“No, it’s not that,” I assured him. “It’s…my ex-boyfriend’s name is Harry.” I searched for even a slow hint of recognition now that I’d mentioned Harry. (My Harry, not Henry V.) There was none on Ruairi’s face, however. It was more relieving than I would have expected. I let out a satisfied breath.  
“Bad split?” he asked, which I thought was kind of nosey of him.  
“You have _no_ idea,” I confirmed.

“Was it long distance?” When I looked confused, Ruairi explained, “You’re an American. I thought you maybe had some poor lad back in the States wot couldn’t hold on to ye.” His accent was sweet and soft and endearing. There was something comforting about it.

“No, it wasn’t long distance. Just…bad.”

Ruairi nodded slowly. “I tried to do the long distance thing. Had a girl back in Ireland. I’m not at school two weeks when I come to find she’s been shagging one of the lads.”

I laughed. “Oh, no! How awful!” Not as awful as your ex overdosing on heroin, but still pretty beat.

Ruairi shrugged. “Eh. What can ye do? Good thing, in the end.”

With a wistful sigh, I admitted, “I can’t wait to do that.”

“Do what?” he asked.

“You know, look back on a relationship and be like, ‘Well it was fun while it lasted, but the break-up was for the best.’”

“I think they call that ‘closure.’”

“Well that, then. Closure. I want that.” Ruairi pulled back a little in his chair. “What?” I asked. 

He was giving me a scrutinizing look, like he was trying to figure out a math problem. “Nothing,” he shook his head of shaggy hair, and I noticed that he pronounced it like, “Note-ing.” “Just, you’re not much use to me if you’re not over this Harry tosser.”

“Oh, him, I’m over. Believe me. _Very_ over.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince Ruairi or myself. Then, the absurdity of his statement sank in. “Wait a minute. _What_?”

“I was going to ask you for drinks, but now I don’t want to.”

“Because I don’t have closure?"

“Exactly.”

I considered this for a moment. “Well, I think it’s probably for the best that you didn’t ask me. I’m pretty busy these days.”

“See! You’ve got closure on our brief courtship, easy as that.”

I laughed. “Well it _was_ quite a short relationship.”

He smiled charmingly at me. His teeth were even and pearly white, and they seemed even whiter than average against his thickly freckled skin. “How about after exams?”

“After exams I’m going back home.”

“Forever?’

Slowly, I admitted, “No. Not forever.”

“All right then. Drinks. Next year. It’s a date,” Ruairi confirmed, and tore a page out of my notebook for me to write my number on. Blushing, I did, and handed it back over to him. He got up and folded the scrap of paper before stuffing it in his pocket. “Drinks. Next year, Roxy,” he said my name looking down at where I’d written it over my number. “Don’t forget.”

Just before I turned back around to Henry V, I noticed a girl look up from her laptop. She rolled her neck from side to side, stretched her shoulders, and took a look around the room. Finally, she noticed me, looked back to where Ruairi was departing, and then back at me. I held my breath, waiting for her to go up to him and blow my cover. Instead, the girl smirked at me and quietly whispered, “You’ve got a thing for gingers, don’t you?” My mouth was still open wide in shock when she winked and added, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” As far as I could tell, she never did.


	58. The Past Is Never Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Bianca usually spent most of the dead London winter making fun of my childlike love of _The Nutcracker_. “Honestly Roxy, the rest of us got over it when we were five,” she’d chide me. There were even some nights when we’d be anxious to get back to comfort of our warm beds, and – making sure Madam wasn’t looking – we’d sneak out before the curtain call. It wasn’t like anyone could distinguish one girl with a bun in a tutu from the other.

We were explaining this to Kate and Pippa one night. Now that Kate and I were back to normal, the two of them stopped over for wine nights about once a week. “I would notice,” Kate volunteered, holding her glass out for Pippa to pour more wine into.

“Yeah, but you know us,” I reminded her. “Nobody out there does.”

“You think so?” Pippa asked. “You think most people have forgotten you?”

I cut off a slice of brie. Wine nights always came with snacks. Tonight Kate had brought over brie baked in dough with some raspberry compote on top. I was pretty sure I’d eaten almost the entire wheel. “You know, I wasn’t really sure, but then I met this guy the other day at the library, and he had no idea who I was.”

Pippa’s eyebrows knit together. “You met a _guy_ at the RBA library?”

“No, of course not,” I corrected her. Any guy I would have met at the RBA library would not have been straight, and she could tell from my tone that this was a _guy_ guy. “I was at the LSE library.”

“What were you doing there?” Pippa asked.

Rolling my eyes, I remembered _The Mail_ article on Cressida and Harry’s supposed upcoming nuptials. “These girls were talking about me in the school library, wondering if I was upset about Harry apparently proposing to Cressida. Loudly.” Kate opened her mouth to refute this preposterous claim, but I waved a hand. “Oh, I know it’s bullshit. I was just getting sick of pretending not to hear them, and Dr. R said I should keep my apartment a stress-free zone, so I needed somewhere to study.” The Middleton sisters nodded. “He stopped me on the way out to ask if I was a student there, and it was amazing - he had _no_ idea who I was. It was so refreshing, not to be known as some girl who used to…used to date some guy.” I’d been about to say what I had really been upset about for the past six months: that I’d be known as the girl who used to be the luckiest girl in the world, the girl who used to have an incredible man who loved her, the girl who used to be happy.

“She _literally_ went to the library and got a date. Meanwhile, I haven’t gotten a date since I was sixteen and he got sick and I had to call my mum to come and pick me up,” Bianca lamented.

When the rest of us were done laughing, Kate gently inquired, “A date?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Well…kind of. He probably won’t call.”

“Do you _want_ him to call?” Pippa asked impishly.

That was a good question, and one that I didn’t know if I could answer. Back in August, Pippa had been the one who told me about the red string of fate theory. Harry was the one on the other end of my string, he was the one who would find his way back to me, somehow, someway. Eventually, she believed, we’d untangle, unknot, find each other again. I’d been certain that our string would stretch, wind, across time and space, but we’d come back to each other. Only now he had Cressida, apparently. And maybe I had someone new, too. Maybe this Ruairi man wasn’t the person at the other end of my string, but no two relationships were the same. My relationship with Harry wasn’t going to be like whatever this was with Ruairi, if it ever turned in to anything at all. Letting out another sigh, I offered, “I _want_ to want him to call. Does that count?”

“Sure! Why not?” Pippa asked, refilling my wine glass, unprompted. “I’m a big believer in rebounding.”

“He wouldn’t be a rebound. Harry and I have been over for a _long_ time. Has everyone forgotten that we were only really dating from March until June?”

“Yeah. How silly of us, to forget such a thing when you were only with each other _every day_ from October on,” Kate smartly pointed out.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I muttered, “Not _every_ day.”

Two bottles of wine later, we were cleaning up and Kate and Pippa were getting ready to leave. “Here, B, eat this last piece of brie,” I held the plate out to her. I would have done it myself but I was sure that my stomach was actually in the shape of a brie wheel at this point.

“Oh, no thanks,” she declined.

“Come on, B!” I whined. “I ate the whole thing!”

“Yeah, and you haven’t even tried the jam,” Kate encouraged.

“I had some!” Bianca insisted. “I tried it, with the strawberry jam and everything. It was really nice.”

Pippa rolled her eyes. “This bloody diet is bullocks,” she assessed before giving us kisses on the cheek and heading out the door with Kate.

I had laid down in bed when it occurred to me that the jam on the brie had been raspberry, not strawberry, like Bianca said. By the time I woke up the next morning, however, I had forgotten the significance of her slip, if it was significant at all.

***

One night at a performance at the Opera House, I noticed that Bianca was particularly tired. I didn’t say anything, but she had been looking like it pretty often lately. I figured it would be another night where we’d sneak out the back door after the Waltz of the Flowers, but when I was looking for her in the back dressing room, I couldn’t find her. “Hey, have you seen B?” I asked Sara Dawes, one of the other girls in class with us.

She looked shocked that I was talking to her. That was fair – B and I mostly stuck to ourselves. “Um…the last time I saw her I think she was in the wings,” she shrugged.

I thanked her and went to go look for Bianca. The wings were always the oddest place in a theater. Some of the highest, deepest, fullest emotions in existence were felt here, and yet, those moments were always so brief and passing. In an instant, dancers left the nervous versions of themselves behind, like ghosts behind the drafty curtains. When I found Bianca there, I shivered. “Hey, did you want to go home early?” I whispered. She shushed me and I looked out to the stage. Victoria White and Stanley Glass, the principal dancers of the Royal Ballet Academy, were on stage dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier's pas de deux. Bianca hated this dance. I knew that to be a fact, because it was my favorite thing on the planet, and she was always making fun of me for it. In all fairness, Bianca wasn’t the only one – most dancers hated this piece. It got repetitive; it was performed every holiday season with the same Balancine choreography. 

But the music…the music could break your heart. The music reminded you of that one Christmas, the first one where you didn’t wake up early and run into your parent’s room, excited to see what Santa had left under the tree. The music was looking around a room and realizing you know no one, and that apparently you're the only stranger in the room. The music was soaking in the tub until the water was tepid, and your toes and fingers were soggy and wrinkled; not because you wanted to, but because you had nothing else to do. The music was staring into the center of a candle's flame as it slowly died out. The music was the tear you cried when you doubted that you’d ever leave your humble beginnings. The music was the realization that you had been happy once, and the fear that you never would be again.

I followed Bianca’s gaze to Victoria and Stanley. They were so beautifully sad to watch, so romantically tragic. Stanley held Victoria as she pirouetted in front of him, leaned back and swept from side to side. The music started to build and the two of them set up for the lift, perfectly in sync. When they reached the crescendo, Victoria elegantly danced her body into Stanley’s, and he picked her up into the air as if she were weightless. I let out a sigh of longing before turning back to look at Bianca. I was going to comment on beautiful they were together, but I realized that Bianca had tears streaking down her face. “B?” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

Wiping away her tears, she nodded, but she didn’t stop crying. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the pas de deux. Out of nowhere, Bianca seemed to crumble in my hug. For the past year, when I had cried it had been to her, or to Kate, a few times even to Harry. Bianca had always been ready with kind words and a joke to break the tension. I – never having been put in this position – was totally lost. Not really knowing what to do, I patted her back. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer, just kept sobbing into the beaded fabric of the bodice on my costume. “Bianca, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You can’t help me,” she shook her head through her tears. “You can’t help me.”

“Of course I can,” I tried to assure her. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ll put the tea on.” It was what Bianca always did for me when I was crying.

When we got back to the apartment (I'd flagged us a cab since I didn't think it was a good time for her to be out in public), Bianca was still sobbing. She hadn’t calmed down to a sniffle – it was still the huge, heaving sobs. I put water on to boil for tea before sitting down next to her on the couch and covering her with a duvet. For a few minutes, I waited for her to stop crying and explain to me what was going on, but the teakettle whistled. By the time I had brewed the chamomile and stirred the honey in, nothing had changed. “Bianca, please, just tell me why you’re crying,” I begged, feeling suddenly very afraid. For her - Bianca, who was the strong and witty of the two of us, whom I'd only ever seen shed a few tears at a time, and that was only once - to be _this_ upset, whatever was wrong had to be something major.  
“I can’t,” she choked out.

“Yes you can! You can tell me anything! Come on, sitting here crying isn’t making anything better.”

“There’s nothing that can make it better!”

“That’s only true if you don’t let me help you,” I insisted. We had literally had this same conversation a thousand times the other way around. I picked up her untouched cup of tea and held it out to her. With shaking hands, Bianca took it, and stopped crying long enough to take a sip. That seemed to calm her some, and she took three more rattling sips before the tears finally stopped. “What is going on?”

Staring down into her tea, Bianca offered, “I don’t want to go home for winter break.”

Okay, well that hadn’t been what I was expecting. “You’ve been crying yourself sick over not wanting to go home for break?” That didn’t make sense, mostly because Bianca’s house was practically a castle. 

All of a sudden, I got a sour feeling in my stomach, like I had a belly full of rotten milk. “Bianca…is this about Paul?” I asked slowly. “Does this have to do with why you hate him so much?”

She still didn’t look at me. She stared down into the bottom of her cup for several long minutes. It didn’t even seem like she really heard me, and I didn’t want to interrogate her, so I just waited for her to answer, hoping against hope that she wasn’t about to say the worst possible thing she could say.

And then she did.

“I was nine,” she started. I leaned in closer, hardly able to hear her soft, near-whisper. “I was nine, the first time.”

“Bianca,” I let out in disbelief. There were so many questions: why hadn’t she told anyone? Why hadn’t she told her mom at the time? Why hadn’t she told me in the past year? Why hadn’t she told…someone, anyone, who could keep her safe?

“And I thought, maybe if I let him, just this one time, it’ll stop. He won’t come back again. But he did. He kept coming back. And he said…he said if I told my mum, that she’d never believe me, and that if I told her, he’d just make it worse for me.”

“Bianca, I…” I never really knew what to say in moments like this - when someone had bared something deep in their soul to you, and it wasn't pleasant. This was worse than usual. What could I possibly have said to make her feel any better? 

Before I could try and finish my sentence, she continued. “I spent so many nights crying and promising myself that once I finally got out, I would never go back.”

“So we won't,” I offered up quickly. “We'll stay here for Christmas, and you'll come with me over New Years.” More than ever, I wished I were still in regular contact with Dr. Rosenblum. I didn’t know if taking Bianca away from the demons in her past was helpful, but I’d be damned if I let her go back to Paul, who I now hated with the same intensity as Bianca had always seemed to. Feeling a tidal wave of regret that crashed in the pit of my stomach, I remembered that last winter break I’d gone to the States with Harry for a week and had left her to deal with Paul on her own. “Did…did he do anything last year, when I was gone?” I asked.

Bianca shook her head and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “No,” she said. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what was different.”

I did. The pervert thought that Bianca was too old for him, and he wasn’t interested in anyone who was old enough to fight back. I swallowed the vomit that had started climbing up my throat. “Bianca, look at me,” I told her, taking her chin in my fingers. “You are coming home with me over break, and then we’re going to come back here, and we’re going to call someone, and you’re going to talk to someone about this.”

“I can’t,” she protested, instantly sobbing again. “No, I can’t, please don’t make me.” As she begged this, she pounced on me again, squeezing me in a tight, child-like hug. 

With a sigh, I rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “Okay. Let’s just…worry about break for now. You’ll come back with me, okay?” She nodded. After a while she stopped crying hard enough to pass out on the couch, still taking hiccupping inhales. I got up, trying not to disturb her, and covered her back up in some blankets before heading up to my own room. I made a mental note to call my mom and tell her Bianca was coming. I didn’t sleep a wink.


	59. Hope Comes From Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Drugs or Me" by Jimmy Eat World
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Stay with me._  
_You’re the one I need._  
_You make the hardest things_  
_seem easy._

After our last performance of _The Nutcracker_ , Bianca and I woke up early the next day to catch the early flight out of Heathrow. She didn’t bring the Paul situation up again, and even though I wanted so badly to ask her more questions, to talk to her about it, to tell her that she could trust me with anything and everything, I also didn’t want badger her about it if she would rather have forgotten.

It didn’t help, of course, that every time Bianca had mentioned how much she didn’t like Paul in the past, I had rolled my eyes and told her to stop being so dramatic. I would be feeling fine, and then I’d remember one of those times and cringe. If there was a Worst Friend Award, I would definitely get it this year. Written off your best friend for several months without a reason? Check. Yelled at your other best friend about how she should just get over her severe dislike of her step-father who abused her? Yup. Yeah, I would definitely win the Worst Friend Award. 

_Keep my heart_  
_somewhere drugs don’t go,_  
_where the sunshine slows._  
_Always keep me close._

How had I missed this? How had I not picked up on this? I _knew_ Bianca hated Paul. How had I not put my finger on the reason? Nothing else made sense. For the past _year_ , Bianca had sat there and listened to _me_ bitch and moan about my prince for a boyfriend, and how hard it all was for _me_ , and in the mean time she was holding back this _huge_ secret! Once or twice I’d asked her what happened with her mom and Paul, but she hadn’t offered anything up so I’d just let it go, and kept complaining about all of _m_ y issues – _my_ boyfriend, _my_ fight with Kate, _my_ pictures in the paper, _my_ own stupid, insignificant problems that paled in comparison to the monster that had been breathing down Bianca’s neck for the past eight years.

As if I wasn’t feeling crappy enough, for the entire flight I could hardly think of anything other than the fact that the last time I’d flown back home, it had been by Harry’s side; that the last time I’d been home for the holidays, I had been incredibly, deliriously happy. For the first time, I was seriously with someone who I wanted to introduce to my family, not someone I was too embarrassed to bring home. It also helped that Harry had shown an active interest in meeting them, too, instead of something that he clearly only wanted to do to just get it over with. We’d laughed, and eaten, and kissed, and now I was just back in shitty New Jersey in my shitty house.

_If only you could see_  
_the stranger next to me._  
_You promise, you promise that you’re done,_  
_but I can’t tell you from the drugs._

My mom greeted me and Bianca at the terminal and embraced Bianca. She’d only met her once, when I’d moved into the dorm, but she knew how close we were. “Hey Bianca, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Thanks, Mrs. D,” Bianca gave her a small smile. 

She threw our stuff in the trunk of the car before I got in the passenger seat and Bianca got in back. “So how was the flight girls?” my mom chatted, asking us all the normal questions parents ask.

When we got to the house, Bianca didn’t seem fazed by its poor maintenance the way I had been the last time I’d been here. She didn’t seem to notice much of anything, actually. We rolled our suitcases into the house and Eddie, looking far more than a year older, screeched down the hall and over to me, leaping into my arms. “Aunt Rocky!” he shouted. Laughing, I picked him up in a hug before placing him back down on the ground. Before I could introduce him to Bianca, he poked my thigh and demanded, “Where’s Harry?”

“Ooh, awkward,” Grace winced, coming out of the kitchen. “Eddie, we told you that Harry wasn’t coming on this visit. Aunt Rocky brought her friend Bianca this time.”

Eddie squinted with one eye up at Bianca. “Are you a princess?” he asked her, crossing his arms over his chest. Clearly, his exposure to Harry had spoiled the little brat.

“Well, no, but I am a Lady,” Bianca offered.

Giggling, Eddie said, “Of _course_ you’re a lady! And she’s a lady, and her, and her,” Eddie pointed at me, my mom, and Grace.

Bianca waved a hand. “Well I’ll explain the English aristocracy to you when you’re a bit older.” I was glad to see her making jokes and being Fun Bianca, even if it was only for a moment. 

I greeted my sister and brother-in-law with warm hugs. “Sorry about that,” Ray apologized. “We told Eddie that Harry wasn’t going to be here this time.”

Shrugging, I offered, “Eh, he’ll get over it. I did.“ Grace gave me a pitying look. “Stop it,” I demanded. “I’m over it.” She looked at Ray and I could tell that neither of them believed me.

_Don’t let go._  
_We’ll dig a great big hole._  
_Down an endless hole_  
_we’ll both go._

Unlike last year, there was no stay at a luxurious hotel in New York City. No, Bianca would be spending her nights on an air mattress with sheets decorated with _The Little Mermaid_. “Vintage,” she chuckled when we put them on the bed.

“I know, how retro,” I joked, slipping a pillowcase over a spare pillow. 

When we’d gotten her bed made up, Bianca took a look around my room. The walls were covered in faded posters of Justin Timberlake and, as evidence of when I’d moved on from pop to more serious music, the Cure and Morrissey. Before I could stop her, she had opened my nearly-empty closet. A few t-shirts that I hadn’t wanted to bring to RBA hung loosely on hangers, but that wasn’t why I didn’t want her to open it. She immediately started to laugh, pointing at the pictures of Princess Di that Grace and I had ripped out of magazines and hung up on my walls. Underneath the pictures were the little tea lights we'd used, having our own private service for the People’s Princess. Over the years, stuffed-in clothes and a random assortment of junk had kept the pictures hidden. I had almost completely forgotten about our shrine until Bianca opened the closet doors. “What _is_ this, Roxy?” she asked. 

Looking down at the pictures, I smiled, remembering the two sweet little girls who had taped the pictures to the back of the closet, lit candles, and taken a solemn moment of silence for the dearly departed princess. I hadn’t yet explained all of this to B when she tilted her head to the side. “It’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” 

I shut the closet doors. “It’s something I did when I was little. It was sweet.” 

“Yeah, back then,” she agreed. “Now after you dated Harry it’s just weird.” 

“ _No_ , it would be weird if there were pictures of _Harry_ taped all over my closet,” I corrected her. Bianca laughed and agreed with me. “Anyway, do you want lunch or anything?” 

Looking down at her temporary sleeping arrangement, she said, “Actually, I’m quite tired. Would it be alright if I had a bit of a lie down?” 

“Sure,” I nodded, heading out of the room. She was under the blue comforter, decorated with a red-headed mermaid, and her eyes were closed when I turned back to her. “B?” She rolled back over to look at me. “Why…why didn’t you tell me?” 

Bianca sighed and closed her eyes again. “It’s not something you talk about to just anyone, Roxy.” 

“But I’m not just anyone,” I reminded her. 

“And now I’ve told you,” she muttered, and then made it clear that she was done with this conversation. I shut the door behind me and let her go to sleep. 

___You’re so blind._  
_You can’t save me this time._  
_Hope comes from inside._  
_And I feel so low tonight._

While Bianca slept, I exchanged gifts with my family before Eddie crawled into my lap and asked me to read _Oh the Places You’ll Go!_ to him. I didn’t remember Dr. Seuss to be as wise as he seemed when I read to Eddie. “Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest. Except when you don’t. Because, sometimes, you won’t.” I turned the page, frowning, not remembering the good doctor getting this cynical. “I’m sorry to say so, but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups will happen to you. You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.” Looking down at Eddie, I checked to see if these warnings were freaking him out. I seemed to be the only person in this situation who thought this was sad, so I kept reading. 

“You’ll be as famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV. Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t. I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games, too. Games you can’t win, ‘cause you’ll play against you. All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot. And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.” Clearing the lump out of my throat, I turned the page. “But on you will go.” 

While I wiped a tear away, Eddie looked up. “Aunt Rocky, why are you crying?” he asked. I wrapped Eddie up in my arms and kissed the top of his head that smelled like kids' shampoo. I held onto him as tight as I could, never wanting him to fall into those dark places, never wanting anything bad to happen to him, never wanting him to have his heart broken, only wanting to keep him safe at every moment of his life. And then, in that way that little kids do sometimes, Eddie gave me a sloppy, childlike kiss and placed both his tiny hands on the sides of my face. “Don’t cry, Aunt Rocky. I love you.” 

The tears fell down my eyes. “I love you, too, stinker.” 

Grace came in the room then. “Hey Eddie, Dad’s making hot chocolate, why don’t you go help him?” Eddie jumped off my lap and scampered into the kitchen. I wiped my eyes. Grace put one hand on my shoulder and started combing her fingers through my hair. The slight pull oh my scalp felt good. “You look exhausted, Roxy,” she said gently. “Why don’t you go up and sleep with Bianca?” 

I leaned my head back against the back of the chair. “I can’t,” I told her. I wasn’t sure why, but I just didn’t want to sleep. I was exhausted. My eyelids stung. My body ached. But I didn’t want to shut my eyes, because I was terrified of the dreams that might start to play out in front of them. 

___If only you could see_  
_the stranger next to me._  
_You promise, you promise that you’re done,_  
_but I can’t tell you from the drugs._

That night, my mom made paella from a recipe she’d gotten from my grandmother when she and my dad were still married. It was my favorite recipe, and my mom knew it, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat very much. When I’d come back from being locked up in Kensington Palace, I’d told Bianca that it felt like someone had thrown my life in a box and shook it up. That’s the way I felt now. Between being nostalgic about my last holiday trip with Harry, and not knowing how to deal with the bomb Bianca had dropped on me, I was too…too much of a mess to feel much like doing anything. My mom noticed that Bianca and I had mostly just shoved rice and mussels around our plates when she cleared the table. “Was there something wrong, girls?” she asked. 

I answered for both of us. “No, it was good. We’re just jet-lagged.” 

Shortly after that, Bianca and I headed up to bed. Not too surprisingly, I couldn’t go to sleep. It wasn’t that I was feeling a lot of anxiety lately. I just wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Like when Pippa had asked me if I wanted Rory to call. The truth was that I didn’t really care if he did or not – but I longed to feel that excitement, those butterflies that I used to get when I met a new guy. My biggest fear was that those days were over for me. That Harry had been the guy the universe had thrown at me, and I’d thrown him back. He’d been the person on the other end of the red string tied around my pinky, and I’d cut it in the middle. Yes, all people and all relationships were different, and Harry was my first love. So maybe I would never get that palm-sweating, heart-pounding, stomach-spinning feeling that I got with him. But the thought that I would never feel that way again, the fear that I would never have that kind of happiness again, made me so sad I didn’t think I could breathe. My happiness was done. The world had allotted me a certain amount, and I’d used it all up on Harry. It had been good, it had been _amazing_ , I’d loved every second of it. But it was over now. There was no more. There was no more hope. 

___I wish that you could see_  
_this face in front of me._  
_You’re sorry, you swear it, you’re done,_  
_but I can’t tell you from the drugs._

Unable to sleep, I waited for the noises to die down downstairs; waited for the creaking floorboards to signal to me that my mom had gone to bed, and then that Grace and Ray had carried a sleeping Eddie up to Grace’s old bedroom. Whenever I hadn’t been able to sleep in high school, I’d sneak downstairs and borrow one of my mom’s bodice-ripper books and read it until I was so bored I passed out. I was looking through the Danielle Steele collection on my mom’s bookshelf before I looked over and realized that she’d left some pots and pans to soak in the kitchen sink. 

_Thank God_ , I thought, which was the first time I had ever thought that when seeing dirty dishes. Doing the dishes gave me a task. I could focus on something that wasn’t as overwhelming as the fear of dying unhappy and alone, and the new information that your best friend was the victim of childhood sexual abuse. I’d take washing dishes over that any day of the week, which is exactly what I did, yanking on my mom’s yellow rubber gloves. Mechanically, I scrubbed, rinsed, dried, and put away. Scrub, rinse, dry. Scrub, rinse, dry. Scrub, rinse… 

___If only you could see_  
_the stranger next to me._  
_You promise, you promise that you’re done,_  
_but I can’t tell you from the drugs._

There must have been holes in the gloves, because the lukewarm water soaked into my skin. Peeling off the yellow rubber, I discovered that my fingertips looked like raisins. The soapsuds bubbled all the way up to my elbows. Right at that moment, I didn’t want anything more than I wanted to be cuddled on an antique sofa in KP under a blanket with Harry, watching a movie, with my two best friends across from us doing the same thing, and my other two best friends pouring the drinks. I wanted the life I’d had eight months ago, and I knew I’d never have that ever again. And it hurt. It hurt my heart to want so much. _What are you doing?_ I thought, seemingly out of nowhere. _What are you doing here?_ Without warning, without the usual lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes, I broke. My legs couldn’t hold me up anymore. Dissolving into sobs, I slid down to the kitchen floor, leaning my head against the cabinet under the sink. Oh God…what was I doing here? 

___Take me, I need your help,_  
_so far away, to pull me up._  
_Take the wheel._  
_Take me, out from me,_  
_so far away, out from me._

“Roxy? Oh my God, Rock, what’s wrong?” Grace asked, dropping to the floor next to me. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she hugged me to her chest. “Sh,” she cooed soothingly. “Sh, everything is going to be okay.” When I had finally stopped crying, getting tears and snot all over her bathrobe, she gently wiped my cheeks dry with her thumb. “What is it? Is this about Harry?” Sniffling, I nodded, and Grace continued, making her own assumptions as to why I was crying. “Roxy, you know you did the right thing. Maybe this isn’t the end with you guys – I mean, look at Will and Kate. They broke up and got back together." 

“No,” I shook my head. “It’s not…it’s not like that.” Grace waited for me to explain. I wasn’t going to, but when I looked up, I looked into her eyes, the same light green as mine. In the back of my mind, I heard Kate last year, telling me that I should confide more in Grace, because out of all the people on the planet, I knew I could trust her. I knew that I could trust B, of course, but ever since she had told me about what happened with her dad and Paul, I’d felt silly bothering her about things with Harry. It somehow didn’t seem important anymore. “It’s…well…after the wedding I started worrying about Harry’s drinking,” I began. 

___If only you could see_  
_the stranger next to me._  
_You promise, you promise that you’re done,_  
_But I can’t tell you from the drugs._

Grace sat, listening, gasping or otherwise reacting at the right spots. “And now, I’m just worried about him. I never thought about how hard the holidays must be without his mother. And I’m just worried that he’ll relapse or something.” 

Nodding patiently, Grace sympathized. “Well, I can understand why you’d be worried about that, but Roxy…even if you were there, what could you do?” 

“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling the guilt tug at my heart. “What was I thinking, though? I mean, I knew he had a problem, and I just…I just left him.” 

“That’s not what happened, Rock. You didn’t know it was that bad, and even so, how much more could you have done? It’s not your job to fix him. I know you want to, but it’s not your job. The truth is, you can’t. You can’t worry about that stuff. You have your own life to worry about, your own happiness.” 

“Is that what this is? Am I happy now?” I gestured to myself, a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor. 

“You think that a couple of months after leaving your first love who has a dangerous drug addiction is going to make you feel like singing and dancing like you’re in _Brigadoon_?” She tucked my hair behind my ear and I chuckled despite myself. “It takes time, Rock, like Harry's recovery is going to take time. If something goes really wrong, you know Kate and William will call you.” 

I couldn’t look Grace in the eye as I muttered, “What if it doesn’t get better? What if I never feel better?” What if Harry recovered, and I never did? 

Grace let out a sympathetic noise and gave me another hug. “I know it feels that way right now. Don’t you remember Bobby?” I had actually completely forgotten about Bobby up until this very moment. Bobby was the guy that Grace had been dating before he went off to college and realized that it was much easier to sleep his way through Delta Delta Delta than to go back to our small New Jersey town on the weekends. Grace had been devastated. Sniffling, I wiped my nose, and she knew she was getting through to me. “And now I have Ray, who is way cooler than that guy, and Eddie, who is obviously the smartest, cutest, most talented and gifted child ever.” 

Finally, I laughed, and I could see Grace sigh with relief. “It’ll be okay, Rock,” she assured me one more time, only this time, I nearly believed her. 

___I wish that you could see_  
_this face in front of me._  
_You’re sorry, you swear it, you’re done._  
_But I can’t tell you from the drugs._

That night, when Grace had made me some tea and I went back up to bed, I made a choice. I would give myself the rest of tonight to mourn my relationship with Harry; to miss our routines; to long for the comfort of him. And then tomorrow, I was going to wake up, and I was going to be done with all of this. I was just going to be done. 

___Keep my heart_  
_somewhere drugs don’t go,_  
_where the sunshine slows._  
_Always keep me close._


	60. Hung, Drawn, & Quartered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

With the new year, I felt like I could officially start…whatever it was that I was starting. Or stopping. Or whatever. I just wanted to be done crying and being sad and worrying all the time about a life destined for unhappiness and spinsterhood. When Bianca and I got back to London, both of us started a routine that would hopefully help us both become more emotionally healthy. Dr. R had recommended this to me over the summer, that having a daily routine would provide more structure to my life, which is something we both clearly needed. We had our regular school schedule – conditioning, class, workshop. After our afternoon workshop we’d go for a run in Kensington Gardens, sometimes joined by one or both of the Middleton sisters. After our cardio we’d go back to the studio and practice until pretty late that night. Usually I left first, went home, microwaved a Lean Cuisine, and passed out in front of Graham Norton. It made for a pretty good day, and besides, I liked the new routine. Keeping my schedule so jam-packed ensured that I had absolutely no time to fall into lapses of hopeless despair. I still wouldn't have said I was happy, necessarily, but I didn’t have time to think about it, so it somehow didn’t seem as bad.  
It was the perfect time to get a new date. Four days into the new term at RBA, Ruairi called. For the past year, I’d been getting phone calls from restricted numbers or ones I didn’t recognize, and those had been important to answer. So, out of habit, I picked up when a number I didn’t know called. “Hello?”

“Roxy?”

“Um…yes.”

“Brilliant. It’s Ruairi. Finnerton. From the library.” The fact that he sounded nervous was reassuring.

“Oh, right, hi.”

“I think you owe me a drink,” he remembered.

Laughing, I replied, “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, it _is_ the new year, and you _did_ promise.”

“Okay, okay. You got me.”

“So what do you say? A pint? Friday?”

“I actually can’t do Fridays.” Before Ruairi could ask why not, I offered up, “I’m a student at the Royal Ballet Academy, and we have early morning conditioning classes on Saturday.” Once, I _had_ made the mistake of going out on Friday, only to show up to class still a little bit drunk and fall flat on my face, humiliating myself in front of all the girls and getting kicked out of conditioning by Madam. She'd held the grudge for weeks.

“Right. Saturday then.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “Saturday. Drinks.”

“Don’t forget,” Ruairi instructed before hanging up with a click.

I stirred some honey into my tea before joining Bianca on the couch in front of _East Enders_. “I think I’m going out with that Irish guy on Saturday.” 

“Really?” she asked, seeming distracted, probably by the soap opera. “Well…good for you, getting back out there and everything.”

“Hey, I’m starving. Do you want to get lunch?” 

“I’m gonna go for a run,” Bianca told me, getting off the couch. It was kind of abrupt, like she was pissed or something.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” she called over her shoulder, and was out the door before I could ask anything else.

***

On Saturday night, I was sitting across from Ruairi Finnerton in a booth at a pub called the Hung, Drawn,  & Quartered. It was pretty crowded, since it was Saturday night, but the place was dark and I was well hidden and the patrons seemed too laid back and casual to care if I was there or not. “So, Roxy, tell me about yourself,” Ruairi ventured over his pint of Guinness.

I ignored his instruction. “An Irishman drinking Guinness. How original.”

Ruairi laughed and then leaned over the table like he was telling me a secret. “Just between you and me, leprechauns? Not real.”

Feigning surprise, I gasped. “No way.”

“Sadly, it’s true,” he confirmed. 

I shook my head. “Well my mind is blown.” Chuckling, Ruairi sat back in his seat and waited for me to follow through on his original request. “Well…I’m nineteen. I’m from New Jersey, which is right next to New York City, and I’m at school for ballet.”

Ruairi nodded slowly. “That sounds quite hard.”

“Well, it’s not a picnic,” I acknowledged. “But I like it. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he insisted.

“No, it is,” I corrected him. “I can cook, and I’m really good at buying presents for other people, but I have pretty much no marketable skills. Which is fine, because I love to dance. What about you?”

Ruairi shrugged. “What about me?”

“What brought you to LSE?”

Amused, he tilted his head to the side. “Have you ever been to Ireland?” When I shook my head he went on, “Well it’s not exactly a booming metropolis.” Before I could ask what he meant, he went on, “The economy is totally fucked there.” He said it like, “fooked.” “Didn’t want to stay there for uni. So I came here. Bunch of the lads said I was selling out.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, sipping my vodka soda.

Grinning, he asked, “What do you know about Ireland?”

With a shrug I answered, “You spent a lot of time blowing each other up.”

Laughing, Ruairi confirmed this. “We did indeed. Spent most of my life shouting about death to Protestants and the Englishman and all that. Then I come to school in the middle of London.” With a sigh, he asked, “What can you do?”

I was smiling at this interesting turn of events when a man at the bar turned around and did a double take. Slowly, he got the attention of the woman sitting on the stool next to him, whispered something in her ear, and the two of them turned back to look at me. I hunkered down further in the seat, hoping they’d think they’d seen someone else.

***

Ruairi and I had two drinks before I made an excuse and said I had to get back to the apartment. I wrapped my scarf around my neck as we made informal arrangements to do something again sometime. On the walk home, I called Pippa. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey Rox! How was the date?”

“It was…it was good,” I answered. 

She paused before assessing, “It doesn’t sound like it was good.”

“No, it was,” I tried to assure both of us. “I mean, there was nothing wrong with him. He’s cute, and he’s smart. He doesn’t smoke.”

“He doesn’t have a raging drug problem.”

“That, too. It’s just…” 

I didn’t have to finish verbalizing my fear for Pippa to know exactly what I was going to say. “No butterflies.”

“Exactly!” I confirmed. “When Harry and I were going out, I would always get so nervous. What should I wear, what should I say, what if I laughed too loud, what if I got food stuck in my teeth. Tonight I didn’t really care about any of that stuff.”

Pippa thought about this for a minute. “Well, firstly, Harry was a prince. So maybe that added to the drama.”

“Maybe,” I considered. 

“And…well, maybe this Ruairi man doesn’t have to be…you know, the kind of guy who gives you butterflies.” Before I could ask what she meant, she continued, “This is a rebound guy. He’s not supposed to be Fabio. He’s just supposed to make you feel good about the fact that you won’t die alone.”

Scrunching up my nose, I asked, “Is this all normal?”

“Completely. Promise,” Pippa vowed, and I believed her. She had some experience in this area. “Oh, right, I almost forgot. Kate wants you to call her, and she says it’s important.”

“Did she say what it was about?” I asked, a little afraid.

“Hm…I don’t think so. I can’t remember,” Pippa admitted. 

“Okay, I’ll call her. But…Pippa, what if…” I paused and chewed on my bottom lip. The winter wind nipped at my cheeks and nose and I looked in the direction of the tube station before deciding to bypass it and walk home. I could use the time to clear my head. Finally, I finished my question, knowing that Pippa wouldn’t laugh at me. ”What if there’s nobody else at the end of my string?” 

Pippa sighed. “There _is_ , Rox. There always is. It might not be this Ruairi guy, and it might not be Harry, but it’ll be someone else, somewhere else, some other time.”

She didn’t know this to be fact, of course. Basic math and science and statistics would indicate that I may very well never get married, that if I did I would get divorced, and that even if I didn’t get divorced, men die first so I’d be alone anyway. But it was the best that Pippa could do, and it at least mattered that she cared enough to say it. I thanked her before we hung up so I could follow her instructions to call Kate.  
“Hello?” a deep, male voice answered.

“Oh, sorry Will, did I call the wrong phone?” I had everyone important saved in my phone under fake names in case I ever lost it. Will was DCWW and Kate was DCKM, so sometimes I mixed them up. (Also, this was a terrible code. Anyone with half a brain could look in my text messages, realize whose phone they had, and see that it meant Duke of Cambridge William Wales and Duchess of Cambridge Kate Middleton.)

“No, Kate’s just getting ready. We have the Whites Gala tonight,” he told me.

“Oh, sorry. I was supposed to call her, but if you guys are busy…” I let my sentence trail off, absolutely hating how awkward things between William and I were now. When I was dating Harry, the four of us had spent almost every weekend together, and even though I’d repaired my relationship with Kate, things with William were still weird, but I reasoned that a certain level of awkwardness was to be expected. Harry and I hadn’t broken up because someone cheated or someone hit someone else. William didn’t have to hold a grudge or anything, but I imagined he’d still feel awkward being friends with his brother’s ex-girlfriend.

“No, it’s quite all right. I know what she wanted to talk to you about. Look, um…Harry and I have decided to do something for Mum’s birthday this summer.”

It was still January. Princess Diana’s birthday was in July. Why were we even talking about this right now? “Okay,” I said slowly.

“So we’re sort of going to have this whole thing with singers and bands and everything. And we thought it would be nice to have a performance by the RBC since Mum always loved the ballet.”

I still wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Sounds nice.”

“Right. Thing is, we thought we might work with some of the students, since the regular dancers don’t need the work as much. Sort of trying to make a name for the girls who aren’t as well known yet.”

I had been fishing around in my purse for the key to our front door, but immediately paused. “What does Dr. R say?” 

With a sigh, William answered, “The doctor says the same thing I do – that it’s just an excuse for Harry to see you.”

My keys dropped in front of the door. “Well then why is he letting him do it?”

“I’m not sure. I think Harry wants to test himself or something; to know he can be around you without relapsing.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous.” 

“I agree.”

“Then why is he letting him do it?”

William paused. “You know how Harry is when he makes up his mind.”

Slowly, I picked up my keys and unlocked the door. Bianca wasn’t home – probably at the studio. “So, what are you saying?”

With another sigh, William explained, “Harry and I are going to head over to your school Monday morning to announce. There will be a photo call that afternoon, but it would probably be best if you didn’t attend.” Most obvious statement ever. “I have other things to be doing so I won’t be there as much, but Harry plans to be around. A lot.”

“Will…you’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” I pleaded with him, collapsing onto the couch.  
“I’m sorry, Rox.” It was serious – William hardly ever called me anything but my full name. “If I had it my way, this wouldn’t even be happening. You should call Dr. R. I think this is all horribly unfair to you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

I was about to hang up when William said, “It might be nice, though. Sort of like old times.” Before I could tell him that he was bat shit crazy, I hung up.

***

On Monday morning, the rest of the girls and I were stretching before conditioning. I’d told Bianca about what was going to happen this morning, and more than once I caught her eyes darting towards the door. The fourth or fifth time, she looked from the empty doorway back to me and forced out a tight-lipped smile. “Just try to remember we have spring shop to be thinking about. That’s the real important thing,” she’d reminded me yesterday. I was trying to take heed of this advice.

A few minutes early, Madam breezed in and her eyes scanned the room before landing on me. “Ah, Miss DeLaSearle. _Maintenant, avec moi_ ,” she instructed, and I followed her out of the studio. She turned the corner and made sure there was no one around before she said, “I believe you have been made aware of what’s about to happen.”

I sighed. “ _Oui, Madam._ The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge told me on Saturday.” When I was talking to other people, they always seemed uncomfortable if I addressed my royal friends by their first names. Sort of like when Harry Potter said the word “Voldemort.”

“ _Oui, bien sur_ ,” Madam concluded. “In that case, you are excused.”

Frowning, I asked, “There was nothing else, Madam?”

She chuckled. “No, Roxanna, I am excusing you from class today. I know that the other girls may make this difficult for you.”

Not for the first time, I felt a surge of gratitude towards Madam. She may act like a hard ass, and she may have said that she was dismissing me because of the other girls, but I could see in her eyes that she was worried about me. “ _Merci, Madam_ , but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay. I think it’ll just be worse if I leave.”

Taking a deep breath, Madam nodded. “ _Bien sur_ , the decision is all yours. I will have to tell you that the princes have requested you don’t join the photo call this afternoon.”

“Don’t worry, Madam. I’m always glad to skip a photo call.”

Madam smiled at me. “ _Oui._ Come on, then, _cher_. Let’s get it over with.”

When we headed back into the room, I didn’t have time to communicate with Bianca about what had just happened. Madam told us to take our places at the barre and we started conditioning. “Now ladies, as you may know, this July marks the birthday of the late Princess of Wales. After the success of the Concert for Diana, Their Royal Highnesses Prince William and Prince Harry have decided to have another remembrance concert in her namr. They will be using dancers from all three years for a portion of the concert paying tribute to the Princess’s love of ballet.” I could tell that all the girls were just bursting to buzz and chatter with one another about this, but they couldn’t. Which, I assumed, was exactly why Madam had chosen to tell them now. “The Princes will choose several girls to perform some of the Princess’s favorite numbers at the concert and will be involved in choosing the dancers. I assume that all of you will want to take advantage of this opportunity.” As we turned to do our exercises in the other direction, Madam stared us all down, daring one of us to deny this statement. When we didn’t, she continued, “The Princes will occasionally be observing class to get to know each of you better before auditioning.” Several girls looked at me and started snickering. “Is there something humorous about the most important audition of your lives?” Madam snapped, quickly putting a halt to the giggles. “Now, without further ado, Their Royal Highnesses Prince William and Prince Harry.”

_“Uh, Roxy, your chest is getting all red.”_

_“Oh, yeah, that.”_

_“That?”_

_“Yeah, it’ll go away. I always get it when I’m nervous.”_

I could feel the splotches breaking out on my chest as William and Harry walked into the studio. _God, I wish Kate was here…_ I tried to catch Bianca’s eye in the mirror, but Madam was critiquing her alignment. Bianca’s face was almost as red as my chest. She was no doubt humiliated by being corrected in front of her friends. On the plus side, none of the girls dared even glance in my direction, not in front of Harry.

When she looked up from Bianca's knees, she instructed all of us, “Ladies, please greet Their Royal Highnesses Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Harry of Wales." The rest of the girls curtsied. I looked around and followed with an eye roll, thinking that this was all ridiculous. One of those men had been inside me. Did I really need to curtsy?

William took the lead. “Lovely to meet you all,” he waved. “I look forward to getting to know you better in the future. Our mother loved the ballet her whole life and it was always something she so enjoyed, both watching and performing. You’re going to be a very important part of the process and we look forward to working with you.” Why wasn’t Harry talking? Had he relapsed? Was he drunk? Strung out? No, then Dr. R wouldn’t have let him come…right?

As we went across the floor and then did a short routine, I avoided Harry’s eyesight, as well as William’s. It was pretty easy, as both of them were avoiding looking at me, too. One wrong glance, one leer too long and it would not go unnoticed by the other girls, and then it would be leaked to the press that there was "tension" between us...which wouldn't have actually been one of their least accurate stories about me. Before I knew it, conditioning was over, and the elephant that had been sitting on my chest and the chef who’d been whisking my stomach were gone. Bianca and I headed for the showers and lockers the RBA kept for students who lived off campus. I was about to ask her how she thought it had all gone, but she still looked distracted, probably thinking about the morning’s critique from Madam. I made a mental note to tell her not to worry about it and we headed to maths. On our way, I saw Madam and Monsieur giving Harry and William a tour. Telling Bianca I’d meet her in class, I scurried over to Harry and the others. “Miss DeLaSearle, don’t you have class to attend?” Monsieur asked, obviously disapproving of my presence.

“ _Oui, Monsieur._ This’ll only take a second. Can I talk to Prince Harry for a moment?”

Monsieur looked to Madam for an answer. She looked from me to Harry to William. “Why don’t Monsieur and I show you the library,” she offered to William.

With a glance from William to his little brother, who nodded, he took Madam up on her offer. When they were far enough away, he dismissed his RPO, Paolo. “Give us a minute?”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Paolo agreed.

“Hi Paolo,” I waved.

“Nice to see you, Roxy,” he greeted me with a familiar smile.

When he was out of earshot, I looked up at Harry for the first time…and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t sure who this new man was, but he wasn’t the Harry I’d known. His light, mischievous eyes were steely and hard. He still had slightly purple half moons under them. His face had filled out a little, but he wasn’t back to his normal self, or at least he wasn’t the Harry I’d known. With a twist on my heart, I realized that he may never be the Harry'd I'd known ever again.

Shaking my head, I cleared my throat. “So you’re really doing this then.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked.

My knees trembled a little. I’d heard his deep, husky voice a thousand times in my dreams, sometimes in my nightmares, but hearing the real thing again made me shiver. “Exactly what I said.”

“Then…yes. I guess, yes, I’m really doing this.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked, “Even though your brother, your father, Kate, myself, and the doctor all think it’s a bad idea.”

“How do you know what they think?”

“William told me. When he called me. Yesterday. Which was about twenty minutes before I called Dr. R and _he_ talked to me about it. Which was a day _after_ Kate called to warn me about it. And all of _that_ was approximately five months after you _didn’t_ call me.”

Harry looked annoyed and licked his lips. “I just didn’t want to treat you any different than the other girls.”

For some reason, this made my heart break. I suddenly felt like I was watching a car crash and wanted to cry out, “No! Don’t!” But hadn’t I wanted nothing more last year than to be treated the same as everyone else? So why did it feel so shitty now? Hoisting my books from one hip to the other, I nodded, “Yeah. No. Good. Great. I’ll see you around,” I said, and hurried off to maths.


	61. Royal Ex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Even though I’d opted out of the photo call, I’d expected the headlines to scream with the news that Harry and I were reunited, even only in this way. They didn’t, though, and I was pleasantly surprised. I thought he and William must have cut a deal with the press, and if that was true, I was grateful, relieved to be staying out of the papers for now.  
“Do you think you should tell Ruairi?” Bianca asked one afternoon when we had finished our after-class run. Ruairi and I had gone on another date, still butterfly-less, but pleasant enough.

“Why?” I asked her, chugging my water.

She shrugged. “He has to find out sometime. Don’t you think it’s best to tell him now, before you’re on the news in your underwear again?”

“ _One_ time,” I smirked, surprised by my ability to laugh at the memory now.

That night I decided Bianca was probably right. I wasn’t sure where this Ruairi thing was going, but if he wanted to bail after this news (and I wouldn’t blame him), then that issue would be decided for me. I called him up the next day and invited him over.

“Your place for the third date, eh?” he asked, and I could hear his smirk over the phone.

“ _Don’t_ get any ideas, mister,” I warned him. I hadn’t had sex in months, but, to be honest, the thought of sleeping with someone who wasn’t Harry was still a bit traumatizing.

When Ruairi came over that night, I made some recipes I’d gotten from Kate – roast chicken and sticky toffee pudding for dessert. I wanted to make something I knew was delicious, since it may have been like a last meal if he wanted to drop me after this. When we’d eaten all of the dessert and I’d had enough glasses of wine to get me sufficiently buzzed, I took a deep breath and sat up. “Ruairi, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He gave me a curious look. “Okay. You’re not on the run from the police or anything are you?”

“No. Are you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m in the IRA,” he jokingly confessed.

“Ruairi! That’s not funny!” I scolded, laughing despite myself. When I looked back down at him, I felt my stomach twist up in knots. “But…seriously. Don’t be mad or start acting weird, okay?”

Ruairi sat up. “Well…I can’t really promise you that if I don’t know what you’re going to say,” he concluded. 

_Fair enough_ , I thought. “Okay. Well…this is going to sound crazy, but I swear, I’m not a crazy person.” I paused, waiting for Ruairi to react, but he just sat there, waiting. “All right. Um…do you remember when I told you that my last boyfriend was named Harry? And, like, he had weird family issues?” I’d told him this on our last date; I wasn’t sure how it had come up. Ruairi just nodded slowly. “Well…those things are all true, and when I tell you who my last boyfriend was, you probably won’t be surprised by them.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’m on the edge of my seat with suspense here.”

“It was…well, I dated Prince Harry.”

Ruairi’s reaction was slow, like he was getting the information ten seconds after I was saying it. His eyebrows lifted, then his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. When he finally did say something, it was, “You’re mad.”

“I’m not,” I rebutted his accusation. “If you don’t believe me, you can Google it.”

“Fine, I will, and then we’re going to have a talk about lying,” he warned me, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“We won’t have to,” I muttered under my breath, kind of annoyed (but not completely surprised) that he didn’t believe me. I waited, watching as Ruairi tapped a search into Google on his phone. I was amused as his eyes widened again, and then he frowned, scrolling down the page. 

“This…what…how did I miss this?” he asked, finally looking up at me. 

Shrugging, I answered honestly, “I don’t know, and if I had my way, I’d let you go on missing it.”

“This explains everything. My flat mates have been acting strange since we started going out, and this must be why. They asked me a million times, ‘You said her name’s Roxy?’ ‘You said she’s a ballet dancer?’ Now I get it.” I snickered and Ruairi frowned. “Why are you telling me this now?”

I sighed. “Because Harry and Wills – “

Scoffing, Ruairi laughed, “You call him ‘Wills!’”

“Harry and _Wills_ ,” I continued, almost as amused as he was, “are going to be around at school a lot.” When I was done explaining to him about the concert for Princess Diana’s birthday, I concluded, “And I’m assuming that sooner or later, something will be in the press so I figured I should probably tell you.” When Ruairi was silent, I chewed on my bottom lip. “Look, if you…if you don’t want to get involved in all of this, I understand.”

Ruairi contemplated this offer, and it looked like it was taking a lot of effort. Finally, he crossed his arms on the tabletop and leaned over. “Roxy, I think it’s _my_ turn to be honest with _you_ about something.”

Smirking, I took another sip of wine. “This is turning into an interesting night.”

“Well, my secret isn’t half as big as yours,” he promised. “I’m the president of the abolitionist group on campus.”  
I screwed my face up. The last time I’d heard the word “abolition” it was in reference to people in the 1800s who wanted to abolish slavery. “Huh?”

“You know like…like the monarchy.”

“Oh,” I nodded slowly. And then, “Oh dear.”

“Yeah.”

All of a sudden, the combination of both of our confessions was hilarious. The giggles bubbled up my stomach, tickling my throat, and finally bursting out of my mouth. Once I had started laughing, Ruairi started, too, and we couldn’t seem to stop. Once one of us would get it together, the other one would burst into laughter again. Finally, I composed myself and Ruairi rubbed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re laughing, Roxy, but it’s pretty serious. My dad was in jail for some time in the 70s because of his anti-monarchy rhetoric,” he said.

Most people probably would have asked for more specifics on this issue, but I didn’t want to go into it. It was hardly surprising that someone from Northern Ireland wasn’t a fan of the monarchy. Besides, we’d already had a heavy night. We’d go into it later, if I even wanted to. When I’d learned about Harry’s fucked up family, it had been extremely emotionally taxing on both of us. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to go into all that with Ruairi right now. Actually…I was sure. I was sure that I didn’t want to do it. Waving a hand, I pointed out, “I’m American. I’m all about free speech. Besides, I’m not a member of the family.”

“But you know them?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “What, do you think I’m a sell out now or something?”

“A little,” Ruairi joked with a shrug, and I laughed some more. I was impressed with how well he was taking all of this. It still wasn’t butterflies, but it was something.

*** 

I had spoken none too soon while warning Ruairi of the potential dangers to his privacy while he was dating me. I wasn’t front-page material anymore, but it seemed like as soon I stepped back out with someone new in public, the press had caught wind of it and decided it was worth reporting. During the period of time that Will and Kate had broken up, they’d done the same thing to her, but she’d been going out, looking hot, getting revenge on the dumb bloke who’d had the nerve to break up with her. (It worked like a charm and he'd come crawling back only weeks later.) I wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone – I just wanted to go out with a new guy I kind of liked. 

Just a couple of days after I had confessed about my royal past to Ruairi, I woke up to several messages on my phone. The first one was from William, asking me to call him back, so I knew it wasn’t good. I did, almost immediately, because when the heir asked you to do something, you did it. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Thanks for calling me back.” William paused for a minute and then let out a tired sigh. “Roxanna,” he said, using my full name so I knew I was in trouble. “I know this might be a bit…awkward, but did you know that the new man you’re seeing is the president of his university’s abolishment club?”

Slowly, I answered, “Yes.”

“And did you know that his father was put in prison for making threats against the Queen?” 

Again, I gave him a slow, “Yes.”

“Right,” was all William said back. 

“What’s going on?” I finally asked.

Delicately, William explained, “Well, it seems that the papers have gotten pictures of the two of you out together, and they’ve dug up all of this information on him. And printed it.”

“Shit.”

“I’m afraid it might get quite rough. They’re saying you’re doing it on purpose, because of your break up with Harry and your…incident with Catherine.”

“Damn it!”

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t fair to either of you.”

When there was another long pause, I asked, “And?” afraid of whatever else William might have to say.

“Well…you’re _not_ doing it on purpose…are you?”

Incredibly insulted, I shouted, “ _What_? Oh, come _on_ William! You know better than to believe that shit. You _know_ it’s all lies!”

“Except it’s not lies, is it? He really _is_ the president of that club. His father really _was_ in prison for threatening to assassinate my grandmother.”

“Oh, please! He never threatened to assassinate anybody!” This was true, but he _did_ have some pretty sketchy connections with other people who had allegedly made those threats. William and Harry had a deep hatred of the press (who wouldn’t after what happened to their mother?), he usually knew better than to believe that smut and take it personally, so I was surprised to be hearing differently now. “It’s not like I knew he was anti-monarchy when I started going out with him.”

William was silent and I wasn’t sure if I had convinced him or not. I knew that he would probably be more comfortable with me dating someone who didn’t have strong opinions about his family or the British government. He’d rather me date someone a little less controversial. Hell, _I’d_ rather me be dating someone less controversial, but William had absolutely no say over who I dated, and he needed to know that. “Listen, no offense Your _Royal_ Highness,” I spat, “but I really don’t see how any of this is your business.”

William was right and ready to shoot back at me. He did have a temper on him sometimes, and it didn’t take a lot for it to ignite. I’d only ever seen him mad at Harry and the British press corps before, but now I’d turned myself into his target. In a clipped tone, he replied, “It becomes my business when someone threatens members of my family.”

“Well, the moment Ruairi does that, I’ll be happy to let you know, but until then, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask me any more ridiculous questions about him.” And then I hung up on the future King of England. Before I called Ruairi, I checked the internet and saw headlines to articles alleging, _Roxy & the Revolutionary! Inside her new IRA romance!_ There were pictures of IRA members in camouflaged outfits and black masks next to pictures of Ruairi with his club on campus. The implication was clear. Infuriated, I turned my computer off and called him. He came over later that night, making it to my door past a flurry of camera flashes. “I _knew_ something like this would happen. I am so sorry, Ruairi. Can you tell your parents I’m sorry please?”

“Roxy,” he tried to reassure me. “People have been calling my dad a terrorist since 1972. Believe me, we’re used to it.”

“Not like this!” I protested. “Not in front of the whole world! They’re trying to make it seem like you’re the people under those masks.”

Ruairi chuckled, holding a finger to my lips. “Listen. I like you. If this is something I have to deal with because it’s just a part of who you are,” he shrugged, “I’ll deal with it.”

I blushed and murmured, “It’ll stop soon.”

Ruairi just pressed his mouth to mine. When we pulled away, I smiled at him. He was being really good about this – far more calm about it than I was. I gave him another kiss before pulling him down to my bed with me. That night, he gone from someone I was casually seeing to my boyfriend. 

In the middle of the night I woke with a gasp and a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Clutching my hand to my heart, I looked next to me in my bed and frowned, temporarily confused as to the red-headed man in my bed. _Harry? No, Ruairi_ , I remembered, shaking my head. _Well…there you have it._


	62. I Don't Think You're Right For Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Ho Hey" by The Lumineers
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Honestly, William and Harry being around wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. They popped in once a week, but we always knew when it was going to happen, so I had adequate time to prepare, mentally and emotionally. It didn’t help, though, that in addition to all of this awkwardness I was also worried about the actual point of all of this - my dancing. We would be auditioning with our pas de deux partners in March and then we’d have a solo audition in April...if we got a callback, that was. My pas de deux partner, Marcus, and I had already started discussing ideas, and I could tell he was nervous about how it was going to affect his chances of getting the part if he was my partner. “There are three other people judging us,” I tried to assure him, and me. “Besides, Harry doesn’t want to treat me any different than the rest of the girls. Believe me.”

_I’ve been trying to do it right._   
_I’ve been living a lonely life._   
_I’ve been sleeping here instead._   
_I’ve been sleeping in my bed._   
_I’ve been sleeping in my bed._

For the past several weeks, Bianca and I had been joined at the hip, heading back into the studio following our after school run. Now, we were joining back up with our pas de deux partners to start choreographing for the audition. Marcus and I were listening to different songs in the studio and I frowned after he played the one he wanted to dance to. It was a soft pop piece, which he assured would make us stand out. “Don’t you think it’s a little…sad?” I asked.

“It’s supposed to be emotional,” Marcus encouraged.

I raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you afraid that we’re manipulating Harry’s emotions just a little?” 

Marcus scoffed. “I don’t give a toss about Harry’s emotions. If it will bring out the best dancing in _you_ , then we should use it.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

_So show me some family,_   
_all the blood that I would bleed._   
_I don’t know where I belong._   
_I don’t know where I went wrong._   
_But I can write a song._

Things got better with Ruairi, too. Now that everything was out in the open between us, I felt like we could finally start really getting to know each other. That didn’t mean, however, that I was ready and willing to jump right into my next relationship. I wanted to take all of this extremely slowly, which was hard when the entire British press corps wanted us to be engaged already. Ruairi had mentioned that his dad had been in jail for some anti-establishment rhetoric, but I hadn’t read anything in the press about any of that and frankly, I'd rather have just left the entire subject alone. Eventually I knew I’d have to dig deeper into it, but for the time being, I’d had my share of dysfunctional families. Right now, I didn’t think it was necessary. 

_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweetheart._   
_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweet._

Ruairi and I were hardly serious, but on Valentine’s Day (which, unfortunately, was a day that Harry had decided to come, alone, to classes) when Bianca and I exited the front gates of school she nudged my elbow with a smile. I looked to where she was pointing and saw him standing there in a maroon sweater, holding a bouquet of roses. Jogging over to him, he gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the mouth. I blushed, kissed him back, and laced our fingers together. When we left to go back to my apartment, I turned around to look back and locked eyes with Harry, who was watching us walk away, exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke. Shaking my head, I convinced myself I’d imagined it, and made for my apartment with Rory.

_I don’t think you’re right for him._   
_Look at might have been if you’d_   
_took a bus to Chinatown._   
_I’d be standing on Canal_   
_and Bowery._   
_She’d be standing next to me._

The Sunday after Valentine’s Day, I woke up to find several messages in my voicemail. The first was from William, apologizing for the papers. Frowning, I got out of bed. Bianca was gone already, and when I checked out the window before going outside to meet her at the studio, there were dozens of reporters there. I'd never seen this many of them amassed out there. “What the hell,” I muttered to myself. I called Marcus to cancel our afternoon practice, and he apologized, too. “I can’t believe the papers are printing it.” I just pretended like I knew what he was talking about before checking online. My heart sank as I saw the headline: _Roxy’s Soon-to-be Father-in-Law in the H-Block!_ There were pictures of Ruairi as a kid with his dad. The pictures wouldn't have been shocking, except that Mr. Finnerton was rail thin with a scraggly ginger beard and blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I'd learned a bit about the hunger strikes during the Troubles in my history class. This didn't necessarily mean, of course, that Ruairi was in the IRA - it didn't even mean his dad was, only that he'd sympathized with the fact that political prisonsers were different from run-of-the-mill criminals - but of course, the media weren't going to let anything small and insignificant like facts and the truth stop them from reporting.

_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweetheart._   
_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweet._

“Rox!” Bianca called upstairs that night. It had taken all day, but the paparazzi had finally left their camp outside my door. I was still in hiding in my bedroom. 

“Yeah?” I called back down.

“You should come see this!”

“What is it?”

“Just…come see.”

Frustrated, I got off my bed where I was mindlessly watching television (a luxury I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time) and went downstairs. Bianca was at the kitchen sink. The window opened out to the small back yard, and we could see across to the opposite street. “What?” I asked.

She pointed to a car idling in the middle of the road. The windows were blacked out. Out of the back, a thin stream of smoke was slowly rising, and curling. “Do you think…?”

“No way,” I breathed out.

Bianca looked at me. “You _know_ it’s him.”

Shivering, I turned back around, went upstairs, and closed the curtains in my bedroom.

_Love, we need it now._   
_Let’s hope for some._   
_So were bleeding now._

Marcus and I practiced for a few hours in the afternoon before hitting a creative wall. “Let’s stop for today and recharge. We’ll pick back up tomorrow,” I suggested.

“Ah, yeah. Good idea,” Marcus agreed.

I headed over to my studio locker and got my stuff out. When I closed it, I must have jumped three feet in the air. “Jesus Christ!” My hand flew up to my racing heart.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Taking several deep breaths, I tried to calm myself. “No,” I waved a hand. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” While I tried to get my heart rate back down to normal, Harry stood there, looking down at his shoes. I’d never seen him this quiet, this timid, this unsure. Finally, I asked, “Did you want something?” _Like, to explain why you’ve been hanging around outside my apartment._ I’d caught Harry three more times since last Sunday.

Harry nodded and then scratched the back of his neck. It took him several long seconds before he finally spoke up. Finally, he looked up, his new steely eyes locking with mine. “That guy outside on Valentine’s Day…that was your new boyfriend?”

I gulped. “Well if he wasn’t, I’d have no objection to strangers standing outside of school bringing me flowers.” It wasn’t really an answer, but I wanted to break the tension.

Harry understood my non-answer and nodded. Several more long, uncomfortable silent seconds passed, Harry looking down all the while. Then, in a voice just barely a whisper, he asked, “Is he good to you?”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I remembered the conversation Ruairi and I had about the papers. “Yeah,” I finally answered Harry. “He really is.”

Harry looked down, cleaning his throat. After a while, still looking at his feet, he went on. “You see, I’m trying to…to remember. Because I can’t remember some of it. Not towards the end.” I nodded slowly. “You weren’t…it wasn’t always bad, was it?” 

“No,” I answered immediately in all earnestness. Reaching out, I placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “No, Harry. It was hardly ever bad.”

Looking at my hand on his shoulder, he pressed on. “All of my memories are of being…being incredibly happy.”

_Oh dear lord…_ Blinking the hot tears out of my eyes, I nodded. “Well, if you’re remembering both of us being happy, you’re remembering right,” I promised him. Then, I moved my hand up to the side of his face, forcing Harry to look at me. He finally did, and I tried to telepathically translate to him that I was telling the truth. Eventually, I got through to him and Harry nodded.  
I went to walk away, but then pivoted back around on my heel. “Harry.” He looked up. “You can’t…you can’t spend all of your time thinking about it. It was good. It was…we were happy. And then…it was just gone,” I shrugged. Harry looked like he was in pain as I turned back around. I felt him staring at me the whole way. 

_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweetheart._   
_I belong with you._   
_You belong with me._   
_You’re my sweet._


	63. Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Even though Bianca and I lived together, we hadn’t actually been seeing each other that much lately. Our afternoons were spent with our pas de deux partners and she made herself scarce when Ruairi was over. I felt like a jerk, but Rory didn’t want us to hang out at his flat because he thought his flat mate would gape at me, and I didn't want to be subject to that. Besides, she definitely didn't need to leave the house, it wasn't like when we'd lived in our tiny, shitty dorm and she'd _had_ to leave when Harry was there and we wanted to get...amorous. It was difficult, though, because we didn't have very many other options. Ruairi and I were under the media microscope, and if we so much as stepped out my front door, I’d be putting him through the torture of more paparazzi flashes. Bianca didn’t say anything, so I didn’t think she minded, especially what with her spending so much time at the studio with her pas de deux partner, J.P., or practicing on her own.

To be honest, I thought it was probably a good thing that Bianca was putting in more practice. Lately she’d seemed distracted and absent-minded. I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed; Madam was spending more and more time correcting her in class. If Bianca didn’t get on top things soon, she would be risking a part in the Diana concert. I wasn’t sure if Harry or William had noticed her odd behavior, and I felt guilty for admitting, even to myself, that she was slipping.

After what felt like an eternity, B and I were finally able to organize another wine night with Pippa and Kate. When Saturday night rolled around, however, I bumped into B at the bottom of the stairs, where she was clearly about to head out for a run. “B! We’re going to Pippa’s!”

Bianca smacked her forehead. “Oh, right. I forgot.” Waving a hand, she insisted, “You go on. I’ll join you after my run.”

“What?” I whined. “B, come on, we haven’t had a wine night inages.”

“I’ll be there!” she insisted. “I just haven’t worked out today and I feel gross.”

As I made my way from our apartment to Pippa’s, I wondered if Bianca’s poor performance in class had anything to do with what she’d told me about Paul. Maybe keeping all of that bottled up inside of her had somehow allowed Bianca a higher modicum of control, and now that she’d let it all out she was having a hard time holding things together. I was mulling over this idea when Pippa answered her door. Immediately, she peered around, frowning. “Where’s B?”

“She’s out running. She said she’ll be over later,” I told them.

Pippa cocked her head to one side. “But…we already went for a run.”

“Huh?” I asked as Kate uncorked a bottle of wine and started pouring for us.

Pippa looked from her older sister’s clueless face to mine. It was like we all stumbled onto a gift we’d rather never received. “B and I went out for a run this afternoon. When you were practicing after your morning conditioning.”

I looked at Pippa, then slowly at Kate, and back again. “But...she said she hadn’t worked out yet today. Why would she lie?” I asked.

The Middleton sisters exchanged worried glances. Finally, Kate suggested, “Why don’t we just ask her about it when she gets here?”

We all agreed that this was a good idea, but I felt uneasy as Pippa insisted, “Now Roxy. Tell me about this Irish car bomber you’re dating.” By the time B showed up, we’d all had a few too many glasses of wine and were having a dance party to Roxy’s Rockin’ Playlist, and we forgot to ask her about her workout fib.

*** 

Sunday’s were usually the days when Ruairi came over. I’d make dinner and we could just relax, which was _not_ something I’d been able to do a lot lately. The week after our wine night with the Middletons, Ruairi was in the kitchen, telling me about Cuchulain while I made dessert. Apparently, he was some sort of fairy-tale hero in Ireland. Ruairi had been appalled to find that I had never heard of him, and even more horrified than he’d been when he realized how little I knew about the Troubles. I'd always thought that was a bit of an understatement. Ruairi was from a small town in Northern Ireland called Derry, which had been the sight of the Bloody Sunday riots…which - I had recently learned through much laughter on his part - was _not_ a riot caused by the U2 song.

“So Cuchulain stabbed the great beastly dog with his mighty sword straight through the heart, and the dog fell down _dead_.”

“He killed a dog?” I pouted.

Ruairi blanched. “It was a _very_ big and ferocious dog.”

“Still a dog,” I muttered.

“ _Roxy_!” he groaned. “My gran would go absolutely bonkers if I brought you home.”

Pointing at him with the spoon I was using to mix cookie batter, I reminded him, “Hey, my last boyfriend’s grandmother was the Queen, and she liked me just fine.”

“Well the Queen isn’t from Northern Ireland.”

“No, but I feel like that would clear up a lot of this conflict.”

Chuckling, Ruairi wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. “We’ll have to go sometime.”

“Huh?” I asked stupidly.

“To Ireland. You should go. It’s just a boat-ride away.”

“Yeah, that’s what the people on the Titanic said.”

Laughing, Ruairi pointed out, “Ireland is a bit closer than America. I think you’d like it. We can go to Belfast, where they built the Titanic. Cork, kiss the Blarney Stone. Actually, we shouldn't. Kids pee on it as a joke. But we could go to Dublin, so I could show you the Tart with the Cart.”

I drew my head back. “The who with the what now?”

“The Tart with the Cart!” Ruairi laughed. “Molly Malone! They made this statue of her and for some reason her breasts are just _pouring_ out of her shirt.” 

A statue with huge tits? “Who is this woman?”

“Molly Malone.”

“Right, and why does she have a statue?”

Ruairi shrugged. “I imagine so that drunk Irishmen have something to fondle when they get randy.”

“But who was she?”

“Hm…how can I explain this?” he thought out loud. “In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.” I was about to ask Ruairi why he had all of a sudden turned into Dr. Seuss, but he went from speaking, to singing. Not just any singing, either. He was standing up straight and had an overly proud look on his face - a mockery of a perfect opera performer. “She wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow, crying cockles, and mussels, alive, alive, oh. Alive, alive, oh. Alive, alive, oh. Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh.”

I was laughing so hard I had to hold my stomach. Ruairi took a deep breath to start up the second verse, but the front door opened and Bianca called out, “Hey, guys!”

“Hey B!”

She came into the kitchen and took a surveying glance of the ingredients on the counter. “Cookies? Yum.” When I told her they were chocolate chip, she commented, “I’m gonna go take a shower and then come down and devour a dozen.”

When she headed upstairs, I frowned, watching Ruairi watch her go. “Um…were you just checking out my roommate?”

Ruairi ignored my question. “She could use a dozen cookies,” he muttered under his breath.

I raised an eyebrow, defensive of my best friend. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He turned back to me. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed…what?” I asked slowly.

“Roxy, her wrists are the size of my pinky finger.”

“She’s always been thin.”

“ _That_ thin? I could see her sternum.”

“Her what?”

“These,” Ruairi pressed down on the bones on my chest.

To be honest, I knew exactly what Ruairi was talking about. Bianca’s absent-mindedness, her fatigue, her extreme work out habits lately – it all made for a scarily thin, incredibly frail-looking woman. Rolling some dough between my thumb and forefinger, I bit down on my bottom lip, considering that possibility that there may actually have been something seriously wrong with Bianca. 

After Ruairi left and I got into bed, I noticed that she hadn’t eaten even one cookie, let alone a dozen.

***

While the girls had conditioning for three hours in the morning, Monday thru Saturday, the boys at RBA were doing the same, one floor below us. On Monday, Bianca and I hit the showers before we headed off to class. I made an excuse about having to speak with Madam and went off in search of B’s pas de deux partner, J.P. After looking creepy and hanging out outside of the men’s locker room for a few minutes, J.P. finally came out and I flagged him down. “Oh, hey Roxy. What’s going on?” he asked. J.P. had the most posh accent of anyone I knew in England. He sounded like James Bond…not the Scottish one.

“Hey J.P. I just wanted to ask…have you noticed anything… _off_ about Bianca lately?”

J.P. scoffed before rolling up the sleeve of his impossibly tight-fitting shirt to expose a boxy, pointe-shoe-sized bruise on his bicep. “Oh, you mean something like this?” he asked. “She missed going into the lift yesterday.”

“Ouch. Yikes. That looks painful.”

“Oh, believe me, it was more painful for her,” J.P. assured me. Then, looking around to make sure no one else was listening, he got closer to me and lowered his voice to a whisper. “She’s been dancing like a total amateur lately. I’ve no idea what she’s thinking. Now is not the time to be slacking off, and she’s going to cost me a spot in the show.”

I rubbed the migraine that was starting to throb between my eyes, feeling completely out of my depth far too recently since the last time I’d felt this way.

***

After I talked to J.P. about Bianca, I called Pippa. “So…what do you think?” I asked her after I’d summarized the conversation.

Pippa considered this. “Well…I think you should talk to Kate. Isn’t this sort of like what was going on with Harry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…”

“If it is, you need to do something, because you don’t want to take it lightly and then…you know.” She meant that I didn’t want to convince myself that it wasn’t a big deal, the way I had with Harry, and then two months later end up picking Bianca up off the bathroom floor.

“Yeah. I’ll call Kate,” I agreed.

But I didn’t. I told myself that I needed to do some more research before I talked to Kate, because Kate would talk to Dr. R and then it would be this whole big thing. Besides, B and I were under a ton of stress. Probably it was just that.

One night, I was home Googling “eating disorders” when Bianca came in from practice. I immediately shut my laptop and pushed it away from me. _Wow, obvious much Rox?_ I mentally scolded myself. In a voice that I desperately hoped sounded casual, I asked, “Oh hey B, what’s up?”

“Just practicing with Jayps,” she shrugged, using her nickname for J.P. A ballerina’s relationship with her pas de deux partner was probably only second in importance to the relationship she had with her husband...and that probably wasn't even always the case. 

“Cool. What are you guys dancing? Marcus and I decided to choreograph something new, sort of more modern, instead of a classic,” I said. Mostly I was talking to fill the space, not to actually say anything.

“Oh? That sounds risky,” Bianca noted, heading into the kitchen. My hopes soared as I watched her open the refrigerator…and take out a bottle of water. _Damn._

“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “So what are you guys doing?” Bianca opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but didn’t say anything. Cocking my head to one side, I asked, “What?” When Bianca looked down with a guilty expression, I got why she was being weird - we were technically competitors. “Bianca! Come on!”

She sighed. “It’s just…J.P. and I thought we probably shouldn’t be saying anything.”

“It’s _just_ me!”

Bianca came around. “We’re doing the pas de deux from _Don Quixote_.”

“Ooh, good choice,” I noted. That piece was passionate, fiery, classic, and extremely difficult. It involved a lot of one-handed lifts. I was sure that if she and Jayps pulled it off, they’d get a spot in the show.

This led to a discussion about the auditions, which were coming up next week. “I’m so bloody nervous,” B confessed. “I don’t know why. Doing it front of Harry and Wills is making it worse for some reason.”

“I know what you mean.” I was nervous myself, which was something that never happened until _right_ before I was about to go on stage. I chalked it up to the fact that Marcus and I had put together an incredibly emotional piece that I was going to have to perform in front of my ex-boyfriend, to say nothing of Madam and Monsieur. “We should get some sleep,” I pointed out.

Bianca agreed and followed me upstairs. While I tried to drift off to sleep, though, I could hear the music to the _Don Quixote_ pas de deux, and the familiar sounds of Bianca dancing across the wooden floor of her bedroom.


	64. Without You I'll Never Feel The Love Inside Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Come On" by Ben Jelen
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

On Monday, Marcus and I waited outside the studio, along with the rest of the school. Earlier that morning before I’d left the apartment, I’d caught site of Bianca in her red tutu and gotten jealous. She and J.P. were performing their number in the costumes that you were supposed to be in when you performed Don Quixote, and some of the other pairs were in character, too. There were Romeos and Juliets, Princes and Swan Princesses. I was feeling a little underdressed in my black leotard and lavender ballet skirt. Marcus was in the usual male-ballerina uniform – black tights, white t-shirt. 

My stomach flopped as I watched other pairs come in and out of the studio. Some girls came out and burst right into tears. Other couples were clearly elated and over-the-moon pleased with their performance. Bianca was going later that afternoon, so I wouldn’t get to see her right after she left the audition, even though I really wanted to. I knew that if we got to see each other, we’d be able to reassure each other that we hadn’t been totally awful. 

After what felt like waiting on a boat in the middle of a storm for an eternity, Madam poked her head out of the studio and called out, “Roxanna, Marcus.“ When I looked up, she motioned with her hand for us to follow her.

Marcus gave my hand a squeeze. “We got this, Rox,” he insisted.

I took a deep breath as we walked into the room, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. My legs were numb and I needed the circulation of I’d never be able to dance. Feeling in your feet and legs was kind of an essential part of the whole dancing concept. 

“Hello Marcus, Roxanna. What have you prepared for us today?” Monsieur asked expectantly. I looked to Marcus to take the lead. For some reason, my throat had closed up when I’d seen where Harry and William were seated against the mirror next to Madam and Monsieur.

“We’ve put together an original piece,” Marcus told them, handing the piano player the CD with our song on it. Other couples would be giving him sheet music, but for us he got to take a break. 

“Interesting,” Monsieur noted. The word “interesting” had a totally different meaning in English. In Monsieur language, it means, “I hate it.”

Usually, I didn’t get nervous until the second before I was about to perform. This time, however, it was the opposite. Right before Madam pushed the play button, all of my worries and doubts disappeared. I knew I was doing exactly the right thing. Marcus and I got into our starting positions, with his body wrapped around mine.

_And finally the silence._   
_Looking out, looking back across the sky,_   
_trying to find a meaning,_   
_knowing that I just left it all behind._   
_Still I smell a lingering softness._   
_Where did she go?_   
_How did she go?_   
_I wanna, wanna know._   
_I wanna know that she’ll be coming_   
_here_   
_to me._

Holding on to Marcus’s hand, I spun out from him before letting go completely. I had been so conscious about meeting Harry’s eye, about not looking at him or else I wasn’t sure I’d make it through without my nerves completely taking over. As I twirled, however, our eyes did meet, for the most fleeting of seconds, but it didn’t matter. It was too late. 

_“It’s nice to feel like I have people.”_

_“People?”_

_“Yeah. People. Like, if something bad happens, I know I have people, and a place, that I can turn to.”_

_“You’re like a lost little lamb! Don’t worry now, I’ve found you.”_

As the memories all came flooding back, Marcus and I danced to opposite corners of the room before sashaying back to each other. He wrapped me up in his arms, dipped me low, like a romantic kiss in a classic movie. I tried not to remember that Harry had done something similar, almost exactly a year ago, when our plane had touched down in Paris.

_Come on._   
_Without you I’ll never feel the love inside of me._   
_Come on._   
_You know that we belong._   
_Come on, come on, come on, come on._

I did pique turns out from our embrace as Marcus did the same.

_“I’ll pick you up and we’ll fly back across the pond so you can celebrate the New Year with your family.”_

_“Harry, thank you. This is the best Christmas gift ever. Thank you so much, Spice.”_

_“Happy Christmas, Roxanna.”_

_“Merry Christmas, Harry.”_

I tried to ground myself, to find myself in the mirror, to tether myself back to reality, instead of dancing back into the past.

_Thinking back before her –_   
_I never knew the meaning of alone._   
_Still the flag is feeling foreign._   
_Live each day to escape into a phone._   
_Speaking of a world not real then._   
_Where did she go?_   
_How did she go?_   
_I wanna, wanna know._   
_I wanna know that she’ll be coming_   
_here_   
_to me._

Oh God…the knot was tightening in my throat. My eyes were stinging with tears and my vision started to blur. It had only been months ago, hadn’t it? Hadn’t Harry and I just been dancing in the ocean and now we were here, afraid of hurting each other every time we spoke? 

_“You are a dream. Do you know that? That you’re unreal?”_

“I’m very real, I promise you that.”

“Henry Charles Albert David. You have no idea, do you? I’ve never, my whole life, had someone who tried to make me happy. And not just the room. The way you’re so patient with me. The things you teach me. How you’ll quiz me for a test at school. How you want to be around me, even when we’re not doing anything. You let me pick the movie, and you never let me be uncomfortable around your family. Do you…I’m serious, Harry. Why me?”

_“Roxanna, don’t you understand that I ask myself the same thing about you every day? Every morning I wake up and see your face and I think, ‘Why has she chosen me?’”_

It didn’t matter. I knew all of the steps like the back of my hand. Without seeing, without thinking, I just kept dancing, right into Marcus’s arms. He lifted me above his head before I placed my right foot through the gap between him and my left leg, twirling myself out of the lift.

_Come on._   
_Without you I’ll never feel the love inside of me._   
_Come on._   
_You know that we belong._

I reached out to Marcus, but our hands didn’t touch, and I burreed back away from him, going into an arabesque. 

_“I love you so much, and I don’t want to do this.”_

_“Then don’t.”_

_“I should go.”_

_“You should stay.”_

He leapt after me, covering my body and we both pirouetted backwards with each other.

_‘Cause each of her kisses_   
_how my heart misses._

The music softened and slowed. I could have sworn it was quiet enough to hear everyone breathing, or not, as it were. My back was still pressed against Marcus's chest and I needed him to keep holding on for just one more instant, or else I thought I'd collapse.  
 _“I know you don’t remember that night. But when you saw me, you said…you said that it couldn’t really be me because I didn’t love you anymore. The reason we broke up was not because I didn’t love you anymore. I did. I do. I still do, and I’m sure I always will. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t have helped you sooner. I’ll be thinking about you. All the time. Every day.”_

_“Don’t.”_

Marcus and I separated. I spun in a slow attitude before raising my leg so it was parallel to my ear and spinning in another slow circle. Leaning over, I reached so I nearly fell, but still retained all control, somehow.

_She’s coming._   
_She’s coming here to me._   
_I’m needing,_   
_desiring,_   
_to kiss her now._   
_I’m living for her,_   
_breathing for her,_   
_singing for her fairytale._

We had danced to opposite corners of the room, preparing for the biggest lift of the routine. I was sure something would go wrong. I was too unfocused, to unstable to pull this off right now. From across the floor, Marcus looked me in the eye and gave me a subtle nod. I just had to be strong for him now, the same way I'd had to be for Harry, the same way I was trying to be for Bianca. I just had to let it go, and be strong for his sake. I couldn't afford to care about anything else.  
 _“I’m trying to…to remember. Because I can’t remember some of it. Not towards the end. You weren’t…it wasn’t always bad, was it?”_

_“No. No, Harry. It was hardly ever bad.”_

_“All of my memories are of being…being incredibly happy.”_

_“Well, if you’re remembering both of us being happy, you’re remembering right. Harry. You can’t…you can’t spend all of your time thinking about it. It was good. It was…we were happy. And then…it was just gone.”_

I rushed back into Marcus’s arms, as fast I could, letting him wrap me up, lift me, hold onto me.

_Come on._   
_Without you I’ll never feel the love inside of me._   
_Come on._   
_You know that we belong._   
_Come on, come on, come on, come on._   
_Come on._   
_Without you I’ll never feel the love inside of me._   
_Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on._

Breathing hard, Marcus placed me back on my feet, coming out of the lift. The twisting feeling in my stomach had been replaced by a heavy feeling in my heart. I couldn’t swallow down the lump in my throat, or blink the tears from my eyes. The room was quiet. I took a deep breath and looked at Marcus, who was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Oh God…what had we done?

Finally, one of the judges spoke up, although not the one I would have liked. “Brilliant, Roxanna,” William cleared his throat. 

“Thanks,” I forced out a small smile at him.

“Beautifully done, you two,” Monsieur said. The relief would have been more prevalent, but the truth was that it hardly mattered if it was beautiful or not. Monsieur had trianed in Paris and Moscow. He was a traditionalist and what we'd just done was very much...not.  
“We’ll be asking for call backs after conditioning on Saturday,” Madam let us know.

Marcus and I nodded and left the room. “You okay?” he asked me cautiously.

“I just…need a minute,” I told him, before turning a corner quickly and heading into the bathroom. Before I broke down, I made sure that there was no one else in there, yanked some paper towels out of the dispenser, and cried into them. I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was just dancing – it could evoke those sorts of emotions. Maybe it was just a relief of all of the stress I’d been crushed under lately. 

Eventually, I dried my tears and felt like I looked normal enough to leave the ladies room. When I did, I was face to face with Harry, who was exiting the men’s room on the opposite side of the hallway. His blue eyes looked electrified and rimmed with red. Over the past year I'd noticed that William and Kate had this ability to communicate with each other in just one look. Out of all of the moments I’d tried desperately to get Harry to know something I was too afraid to say, this time I felt like we got it right. This time, I felt like we were both thinking the same exact thing, and we both knew it. 

_I miss you._

***

Later that night I’d ordered Indian food and was waiting for Ruairi. He was going to pick it up on his way over to my place. I was also eager to see B. We hadn't seen each other's auditions, but it always helped to hear that your best friend was sure you'd done a good job, even if there was no possible way we could know that. I needed to both be reassured by, and assure, my best friend that everything had gone well for all of us. While I was trying to drown out my brain in front of the BBC ( _I really should know more about this Greek debt crisis…_ ), my phone rang. DCKM. “Hey Kate, what’s up?”

“What happened at school today?” she whispered.

The last time Kate had called me up using an odd voice, it had not gone well. “Is everything okay?”

“You tell me,” she insisted.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Kate sighed. “William and Harry just got home, and Harry went right to his room, and then Wills followed him. They were in there for a few minutes before they came out and Harry called the doctor to go to a meeting. An _AA_ meeting.”

Even if I had tried to describe the audition to Kate, there was no way she would understand. “It was…heavy,” was all I could say.

“Apparently.”

The doorbell rang and I got up off the couch. I greeted Ruairi with a kiss. “Hey Kate, Ruairi just got here, I should go.”

“Okay, but I still don’t know what’s going on,” Kate grumbled.

Chuckling, I told her I’d try to explain later (even though I wasn't sure I could) and hung up. Ruairi raised an eyebrow. “Kate?” he asked.

“Yup,” I nodded, taking the bags of food from him and heading into the kitchen.

Ruairi followed me. “You know, I’m glad my taxes paid for that phone call.”

"Ruairi, please, don’t start.” I usually laughed my way through Ruairi’s anti-monarchy tirades, never really taking them seriously. He was far from the only person I'd encountered with anti-monarchy leanings. I wasn't sure I'd like giving part of my paycheck to people I never met so that they could basically do nothing all day...you know, like Congress. Tonight, however, I was _not_ in the mood.

“It’s different for you. You’re not paying for it. Last year you were a guest at an event that was paid for with _my_ money.” I didn’t say anything, just unpacked the food. Ruairi kept pushing. “That holiday you went on to Monaco? You’re welcome.”

I snapped. “Our vacation to Monaco was paid for by Harry, who used the money he inherited from his mother’s estate, and I’m sure that if you asked him, he would _much_ rather have his mother alive than that vacation to Monaco.”

Ruairi held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. No anti-monarchy speeches on audition day.”

“Thank you,” I smiled at him with a peck on the mouth.

I was telling Ruairi about the audition (leaving a few choice parts out) when the front door flew open. Bianca ran up the stairs to her room before I could say hello and we heard her door slam. I looked back at Ruairi, who noted, "That doesn't sound good," and excused myself. Slowly, I crept up the stairs and softly knocked on Bianca’s door. “B?”

In an obviously teary voice, she replied, “Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer for a long time, and when she finally did it was a sniffled, "Okay."

When I went into her room, she was on her bed, surrounded by a small pile of used tissues. I tucked one leg underneath me and sat down across from her. “What’s going on?” Looking down, Bianca shrugged, not saying anything. I tucked some blonde hair that had strayed from its bun. “Is this about the audition?” When she nodded, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Bianca shook her head, but she started talking anyway, which I took as a good sign. “I fucked it all up.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is. I know it is.”

“Well what did Madam say?”

Bianca waved a hand. “She said it was fine. Who cares? It’s not like she was going to tell me it was shit in front of everyone.”

On the contrary, I thought that was the exact kind of thing Madam would do. “B, come on, this is Madam and Monsieur we’re talking about here. If it was crappy they would have _no_ problem telling you.” My words fell on deaf ears. More tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Why was everyone I knew a pretty crier? I looked like the Elephant Man when I was sobbing my eyes out. Bianca and Kate had apparently taken soft, delicate tears lessons or something. No fair. “What did J.P. say?”

Bianca shrugged. “He thought it went fine.”

I recalled the conversation I’d gotten into with J.P. the other day about Bianca’s weird moods lately. He was a pretty frank person, one of those flamboyant gay guys that Republicans always seemed to ask, “Why do they have to be so upfront about it?” about. If he thought it went poorly, he would have said something. “B, I’m sure you’re just thinking that it went worse than it did.” She didn’t seem to be consoled by this, and after I suggested she take a bubble bath with the stuff Will had given me for my birthday, she agreed and started running the tub.

“What’s going on?” Ruairi asked when I went back downstairs.

“She thinks she blew her audition,” I explained. “Hang on one more second, I’m going to call her partner.” I texted Marcus for J.P.’s number and called him. “Hey, it’s Roxy. Look, Bianca just came home and she says your audition went really bad.”

“What?” J.P. asked. “It was fine! I mean, it could have been better, probably, but it was fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Maybe she’s just being dramatic.”

“I’ll say,” he muttered under his breath. “You know Roxy, when we got paired up last year, she was a totally different person.”

I thought back to all of those times Bianca and I had laughed together, all of the times I’d been a complete mess and she’d been the one consoling me. More times than I cared to admit, Bianca had been the one to talk some sense into me, whether it be about Harry or school or anything else. Now, she was acting completely erratic and seemed constantly irrational, especially about school and especially about this audition. “Yeah,” I agreed. “I know exactly what you mean.”


	65. Call Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The weeks waiting to hear back about an audition were the absolute worst things on the planet. I had wobbly legs for days, which did not help my dancing in any way. Thankfully, after the audition days, Harry and William were notably absent from the studio, so at least that added stressor was gone. It was a bit curious as to why they'd backed off for the time being, but there were very few things I'd like less than trying to figure out why. While I was stranded in ballerina limbo, Ruairi’s constant attacks on my royal friends actually made me feel better. He wasn't one of those angry people who held signs and shouted outside of Parliament. His outlook was more humorous, and included a hilarious impression of the Queen. I did feel just a _little_ guilty laughing. “Oh, you’re a plumber? What on _earth_ is that?” he asked, pretending to be an eighty-year-old woman. He also dogged on Prince Philip, who I hadn’t actually met, so I didn’t feel guilty about laughing at that at all. “Get me a drink someone so I can get a buzz before dealing with all these peasants!”

“He’s never said ‘peasants!’” I insisted through my laughter.

“I bet he says it all the time!”

I was pleasantly surprised at how well everything was going for us. In a word, our relationship was simple. No paparazzi (well, only a little), no fucked up story about a broken home, no substance abuse problems. It was all easy. Ruairi woud sometimes bring up his family, the past, the trouble his father had gotten into back in the 70s and 80s, but I didn't dig any further into those subjects. It wasn't that I was insensitive, but I knew as much as I needed to know about all of that. They didn't like the monarchy and they hadn't liked England’s rule over Northern Ireland; hearing about whatever his father had done to get himself locked up was unnecessary. Any family drama seemed like a cakewalk after Harry's. 

If there was any part of our relationship that wasn't all smooth sailing, it was that Bianca wasn’t friendly with Ruairi...at all. A few passing “hellos” here and there, but other than that she didn’t seem to have any interest in meeting him, which, given her friendship with Harry, I found kind of cold. When Harry and I were dating, Bianca would give us our privacy, but since we were sharing a room at the time she couldn’t reasonably always be out. Luckily, that had never really mattered, since the three of us always got along so well. There would even be nights when I’d log in some extra practice in the studio and come back to the dorm only to find Harry and B involved in an intense card game or discussion about something political that had happened in the news that week. So her aloof demeanor towards Ruairi struck me as odd, but then again, everything about Bianca lately was striking me as odd. Mostly I convinced myself that she’d get back to normal as soon as we were done with these horrendous auditions.

As for Pippa and Kate meeting Ruairi, I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to make this happen. “It’s weird, guys.”

“How is it weird?” Pippa asked. “I’m nobody!”

I ignored the fact that the second part of that was bullshit. “It would just be weird! He knows who you are, he knows your relationship with Harry.”

“Everyone in the world knows our relationship with Harry,” Kate pointed out. “What, you think we’ve never met anyone who wasn’t his biggest fan?”

“I think you’ve never met anyone who wasn’t _your_ biggest fan,” I responded. “It’s not like he thinks you guys are spoiled little girls, he really disagrees with everything about the monarchy.”

“I’m not a part of the monarchy!” Pippa fumed.

“Shush up, Pip,” Kate waved at her, signaling for her to shut her mouth. Pippa looked wildly offended but followed her order all the same. “Come on, we’re just your friends. It’s not like it’ll be an official state event!”

I still wasn’t feeling great about this, but it did feel strange that two huge parts of my life weren’t joined somehow. “Look, it’s not like you have to scrape and bow,” I told Ruairi one night while I was trying to convince him. “You just have to say ‘hey.’”

He gave me a doubtful look. “Nobody just says ‘hey’ to these people.”

“I do it all the time.”

“And how am I supposed to feel about the fact that these people are related to your ex-boyfriend?”

“Related by marriage! It’s not like I’m asking you to meet William!” Most people, like Madam, thought it was weird when I referred to the royals by their first names, but Ruairi talked about them like that all the time. “Come on, it’ll just be a real quick introduction. I want you to meet my friends!”

Apparently talked into it, Ruairi reluctantly agreed and I set up a wine night for us and the Middleton sisters. I was lighting candles, as Bianca and I always did, and Ruairi was sitting on the couch with a beer. “Is Bianca joining us?” he asked.

“No, I think she’s at the studio,” I told him.

He watched me light candles and straighten up the living room for my friends. “Have you talked to her about her weight?”

With a sigh, I sat next to him on the couch. “No. I think I’m just chickening out.”

“Roxy, this could get pretty serious,” he warned me. “Aren’t you worried that putting it off will just make it worse?”

“Look, she’s probably just stressed about the auditions. After we get our results, she’ll probably go back to normal,” I tried to explain my excuses to him.

He didn’t look convinced. “And what if she gets a call back audition?”

Actually, I wasn't sure what would be worse - if Bianca did get a call back, or if she didn't. I was chewing on my lip and considering this somewhat disturbing possibility when the doorbell rang. _Saved by the bell_ , I thought, getting off the couch and swinging open the door. “Hi!” the Middletons greeted me with smiles.

“Hey guys, come on in,” I opened the door wider. “I opened the cab sav,” I told them, gesturing to the bottle that was open on the coffee table next to three wine glasses.

“Fab!” Pippa noted.

Ruairi stood up and I let out a nervous giggle. “Um…okay so this is my boyfriend,” I said, stating the obvious. “Ruairi, this is Pippa and Kate.”

“Hi! Lovely to finally meet you,” Pippa greeted him with a handshake.

“Same,” Ruairi said simply. To be honest, I was just happy that he didn’t come right out and tell her that she was only famous for her backside, as he was wont to say to me. 

“Nice to meet you,” Kate smiled at him.

Ruairi shook her hand. “Likewise.” I coughed, hoping that he would take the hint and address her the proper way, as Your Royal Highness. He just looked at me and I realized that he was doing it (or not doing it) on purpose. I knew that Kate didn’t care, but a slight flush rose to my cheeks. It would have been nice for him to at least offer. 

Later that night, when we had sufficiently socialized and the Middletons had gotten to know Ruairi better, I was cleaning up the wine glasses and snacks after they’d left. “You could have at _least_ addressed her by her HRH.”

“What?” Ruairi asked, like he couldn’t believe what I had just said.

“It just would have been nice, is all.” When I turned around to look at him, he was shaking his head at me. “What?”

“Roxy, you _know_ what I think of them.”

With a frustrated sigh, I insisted, “Whatever you think of them, they are who they are. It’s not like Kate was like, ‘Ooh, I can’t ,em >wait to marry William so I can have _all_ the money!’”

“You sure about that?” Rory muttered under his breath.

It wasn’t an entirely uncommon opinion. There were some people who thought that Carole Middleton, hell-bent on marrying her eldest child into the monarchy, had engineered Kate and William’s entire relationship. This, of course, was a completely ridiculous accusation based solely on the fact that Carole had encouraged Kate to go to St. Andrews at a time when no one had any idea that William would be attending the university as well, and because St. Andrews was one of the best schools on the planet. Ruairi could bash on the monarchy all he wanted – he was justified in some of that. They _were_ his tax dollars, after all, and after centuries of his country being oppressed by the British, I didn’t blame him for not being their biggest fans. But for him to be rude about Kate and Pippa was ridiculous, in my opinion. For most of her life, Kate had been just like any other person, and Pippa (as she was quick to point out) still was. So, to Ruairi's irritating question, I simply said, “Yes,” and that was the end of that.

***

The conditioning on the Saturday before our callback results was absolute agony, and it seemed to go on _forever_. I knew that all of the other girls were just as nervous as I was, except for maybe Bianca, who seemed to be even more nervous. “There’s no point in worrying about it,” I tried to calm both of us. “Worrying won’t give us call backs.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Bianca snapped. “You’re practically written into the concert program.”

“Bianca, that’s ridiculous,” I sighed wearily, resenting the fact that even my best friend was sure I was getting preferential treatment.

Finally, after the longest conditioning class _ever_ , Madam pulled a list out of a manila envelope and placed it on the piano. “Your names are on the list for the individual call backs,” she told us. “Keep in mind that just because your name _isn’t_ on this list does not mean that you haven’t been considered, and are not still being considered, for a spot in the show. These are just call backs to see which dancers we want doing a pas de deux and which dancers we want doing solos.” That was just a _little_ bit relieving, and I tried to keep it in mind as, with a twisting, twirling stomach I approached the list.

While I waited behind the huge group of girls gathered around the piano, I reached out and squeezed Bianca’s hand. “Ouch,” she gasped, pulling it out of my grasp and shaking it. I gave her skinny frame a once over before shaking my head and looking back up at the list. Some girls looked at it and high-fived, other promptly burst into tears. I took a deep breath when I finally reached it, thankful that most of the girls had already looked at it and left the studio. With my index finger, I ran down the list of girls; _Lindsay Adams, April Bettancourt, Jane Carlisle, Sara Dawes, Roxanna DeLaSearle, Jamie Eggert…wait a minute_. I gasped and ran my eyes back up the list. “Oh my God! B!” I screeched out to her.

Bianca, I noticed, was still scanning the list. I took a second glance to make sure that her name was there, near the bottom with the “W” names. I checked three times, my heart sinking lower and lower. There was no Bianca Winchester on the list. “B,” I reached out, trying to give her a reassuring hug. 

She took a step backwards. “I’m fine,” she said, her mouth set in a grim line. Clearly, she was absolutely not fine.

“Bianca,” I tried again.

“I’m fine. I’m just gonna…go for a run.”

“I don’t think you should do that. Come on, let’s go back home, I’ll make some tea.”

“I don’t _want_ tea,” she snapped. “I want to go for a run.”

There were a few other girls left in the studio packing up their dance bags and they looked up at Bianca’s outburst. I swallowed and took a step closer to B, lowering my voice. “Bianca, I really don’t think you need to go for a run right now. You’re looking really thin lately.”

“And it apparently doesn't matter at all,” she muttered, and then left the room before I could say anything else. I swore under my breath. Great, just dealing with my best friend potentially having an eating disorder and worrying about my solo audition. Oh yeah and my ex-boyfriend in recovery was hanging around while my new boyfriend hated everything about most of my friends. Nothing too serious going on here.


	66. I Had A Heart Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Lights" by Ellie Goulding
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Fortunately, before the call back, I was able to meet with Madam and Monsieur to discuss my pas de deux audition. It was mostly an opportunity to see what I needed to show them to make sure I got a spot in the concert. “You and Marcus performed a beautiful dance,” Monsieur told me, "but it was classic Roxy.” I didn’t even know what that meant. What was classic Roxy? There was a classic Roxy? What the hell? “What we would like to see now is a more innovative dance. Something a little more outside the box.”

“Oh…okay,” I nodded, pretending to understand...and then, just for clarity, I asked, “Like what?” I didn’t think our performance was “classic” at all. It was to a modern song with a simple costume. Maybe the moves weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but it was ballet. It wasn’t supposed to look like a Missy Elliot video.

Madam shrugged. “Just something outside of your comfort zone,” she suggested. I smiled, thanked them, and left the office, still completely confused. Why would I want to do something outside of my comfort zone for the most important audition of my life thus far? I had been thinking about doing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, a piece I literally had memorized since I was five-years-old. Guess that was out.

“So what are you going to do?” Ruairi asked me when I told him what they said.

“I have no idea. I guess I’m going to have to choreograph a new dance.” 

I wasn’t even above trying to wheedle information out of Kate from William. “Come on! Just a little information!”

“Roxy!” she gasped. “That’s cheating!”

I grumbled under my breath that I knew that before going back to the drawing board. 

The audition, however, was not the only problem on my plate. Bianca had been increasing both the frequency and length of her runs lately, and spending even more time at the studio. Usually, she was out for a run when I woke up in the morning and stayed at the studio until after I’d gone to bed. I only saw her for a few hours a day in class, and, not for nothing, but all of the extra work she was putting in didn’t even seem to be paying off. It seemed to be a daily occurance for Madan to ask, “Miss Winchester, where is your head today?” I knew what it was like to be reprimanded in front of everyone, and it was a _terrible_ feeling. It hurt me to think about how badly I knew Bianca was beating herself up over all of this, and it felt strange and lonely to me that she wasn't getting a call back. In our first year, we'd gotten everything together – parts in _Cinderella_ , soloist bits in spring shop. For her not to get a call back was unfamiliar territory, and if it felt shitty to me then I could only imagine how awful it felt to her. On the rare occasions that we did cross paths, I tried to remind her of what Madam had said about still getting a part even though you weren’t asked for a call back. 

“Yeah, it’ll just be in the back of the corps and no one will see me. _If_ I even get into the corps.” 

“B, come on, you’ll be in the show,” I tried to reason with her.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled under her breath.

I glared at her. This wasn't the first time she'd implied that I had some unfair advantage. The other girls were already complaining about it as well, and they weren’t being shy about calling the press. I didn’t think the publishers particularly cared about the concert, but any drama between Harry and I apparently sold enough magazines to make it worth their while. “Other students fear that favoritism has secured Roxanna DeLaSearle a spot in the concert that she hasn’t earned,” _The Sun_ declared. Those accusations would be followed by a quote confirming them by “an unnamed source.” It was the anonymity that pissed me off the most. If the girls were going to try to trash me in the press, they should at least grow some balls and own it. Although, in some Machiavellian way, I didn’t think the attacks were supposed to be getting my attention. It was a good PR strategy; the girls wanted the word to spread that this was happening so that if Harry did choose me to be in the show (let alone that there were three other people judging us) it would look like I was getting preferential treatment. So basically I wouldn’t be able to get into the show unless we were all willing to undergo strict scrutiny by the press and all of the other girls at school. And I didn't mind that scrutiny from them - it had been happening for over a year at this point. What I did mind was that it wasn't coming from people I'd never met and classmates I'd never even spoken to. Now, it was coming from my best friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bianca shrugged and innocently explained, “Just that you got a call back, so it’s easier for you to be confident about that.” This, of course, was not what Bianca had meant, but I didn’t want a fight with her on top of everything I was already dealing with, so I kept my mouth shut.  
*** 

Once again, far too soon, I found myself waiting in the hall outside of the studio. Like before, some other girls were dressed in full costume, while others had clearly been told to “go outside their comfort zone,” like me. I was secretly jealous of all of the girls in black swan costumes lacing up their dyed-black pointe shoes. I had decided to perform my innovative dance on my flats in an attempt to make it less of a classical piece. I was wearing a black leotard over black leggings as opposed to the usual pink tights, and a light green ballet skirt that I’d gotten either for my birthday or Christmas, I couldn’t remember. Instead of twirling my hair into a bun, I decided to let it hang down, wavy and casual. Oh, how I longed for a tutu…

This time, it was William who was calling people into the audition studio. “Roxy,” he smiled at me, letting me know it was my turn.

Lindsay Adams scoffed, obviously pissed at the familiarity between William and I. I shot her a glare before heading into the studio. Well, now I knew one person who had complained to _The Sun_. 

I gave the piano player a CD again and he put it in the boom box. “What do you have for us today, Roxy?” Madam asked.

“Well, I think it’s something a little more modern, a little more outside my comfort zone,” I told them hopefully.

“We’ll see about that,” Monsieur acknowledged, which didn’t leave me feeling very confident.

Taking a deep breath, I listened as the familiar beat of the song started.

_I had a way then,_   
_losing it all on my own._   
_I had a heart then,_   
_but the queen has been overthrown._   
_And I’m not sleeping now,_   
_the dark is too hard to beat._   
_And I’m not keeping now_   
_the strength I need to push me._

My dancing was too fast and my hair was flying too much to see the looks on the judges’ faces, which I was actually relieved about. I also knew that William was a fan of Ellie Goulding – she’d been his wedding band. Okay so maybe I was pandering a little, but oh well. I didn't care what I had to do, I was going to get a spot in the show. I was going to practice, and perform, and then I was going to deal with the other problems in the periphery of my life. But for right now, I needed this to be the most important thing in the world to me, because my other options weren't exactly appealing. 

_You show the lights that stop me_   
_turn to stone._   
_You shine it when I’m alone._   
_And so I tell myself that I’ll be strong_   
_and dreaming when they’re gone._   
_‘Cause they’re calling,_   
_calling,_   
_calling_   
_me home._   
_Calling,_   
_calling,_   
_calling home._   
_You show the lights that stop me_   
_turn to stone._   
_You shine it when I’m alone._

Unlike the audition with Marcus, I now found it easy not to meet anyone's eyes. It wasn't hard to get through the dance, it wasn't hard to block out the memories. I was here, and I was dancing, and I knew that I was pretty damn good at it. I leapt across the floor and twisted my body in mid-air. What had happened in the past didn't matter - _couldn't_ matter - anymore. This wasn't a dance for Marcus, wasn't a time to be vulnerable in front of the person who had broken my heart. This was a time for Roxy to be an impenetrable force. This dance was just for me.

_Noises_   
_I play within my head._   
_Touch my own skin_   
_and hope that I’m still breathing._   
_And I think back to when_   
_my brother and my sister slept_   
_in an unlocked place;_   
_the only time I feel safe._

The week before the audition, I’d had Rory over and made this stew he said his mom used to make and was his favorite dish. It actually sounded delicious so I’d asked for the recipe. We were eating and had killed a bottle of red when Bianca came home. “Hey, I made you a plate! It’s lamb stew,” I told her. Bianca loved lamb. Her family actually raised some for slaughter on their estate. I’d asked if it made her sad to kill the little lambies after she’d raised them, and, ruthlessly in true Bianca fashion, she’d assured me that any guilt she felt was quickly assuaged by the deliciousness of the lamb when it turned up on her plate.

I pulled the plate out of the oven where I’d been keeping it warm for her. She looked down at it and then up at me, and I frowned. The emotion behind her cool blue eyes was something I’d never seen before: it was panic. “Oh I…I’m good,” she denied me.

“Are you sure?” I pressed, waving the plate under her nose so she could smell how good it seemed. “It’s your favorite.”  
She swallowed like she was holding down vomit and waved the plate away. “Yeah, I ate at school.” As she rushed upstairs to her bedroom, I thought it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know she was lying.

_You show the lights that stop me_   
_turn to stone._   
_You shine it when I’m alone._   
_And so I tell myself that I’ll be strong._   
_And dreaming when they’re gone._   
_‘Cause they’re calling,_   
_calling,_   
_calling me home._   
_Calling,_   
_calling,_   
_calling home._   
_You show the lights that stop me_   
_turn to stone._   
_You shine it when I’m alone._

Again, I pressed my arms out to the sides before going into a leap. It was like I was pushing away Bianca, pushing away Rory’s cool demeanor towards Kate, even pushing away the audition that I was in the middle of right now. 

As I pirouetted in front of the mirror, everything just fell away. There were no judges, no ex-boyfriends in front of me, no husbands of best friends. There was nothing, just my own reflection, my eyes meeting themselves in the mirror over, and over, and over. Last year, towards the end of my and Harry’s relationship, I’d come into class late and hung over. While I was going across the floor with some other girls in conditioning, I’d done a triple, bumped into one of the other girls, and fell to the floor. This audition was my chance to show Madam that I could pull this off, spinning in one place for so long with no mistakes (in my dancing or personal life) in sight.

This time when I hit the floor, it was on purpose. The song ended and, breathing hard, I flipped my hair back to look at the judges. William’s blue eyes were wide, obviously shocked by my performance. I just wasn’t sure if he was shocked in a good way or not. Monsieur was trying to hide his smirk, and I was confused about this reaction as well. Madam, as always, was holding a total poker face. When I looked at Harry, he gulped and his face flushed. That blush let me know that I’d gotten through to them. They could see all of the emotion in my dance, they had felt all the stress leaving my body. Most of all, I knew that I’d crushed my audition. For the first time in my life, I knew with absolute certainty that, with that audition, that dance that had been fueled by pure emotions, inspired so much by my current state of confusion, stress, and overwhelming obstacles, I had gotten myself a part in the show.


	67. Visions of Sugar Plums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Okay, I really shouldn’t be telling you this,” Kate whispered over the phone the night after my audition, "but Willie said you blew them away with your audition.”

“I _knew_ it!” I grinned, pumping my fist.

“You did?” she giggled, feeling my good mood over the phone.

“Yeah, I did! I _never_ feel that sure after an audition.”

“I know, I’ve been there for the post-audition panic,” she reminded me. Then, in her regular voice, she asked, “How’s B doing, what with not getting asked back?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s a good question. I haven’t talked to her any more about it. Every time I try to she just changes the subject or says she doesn’t want to talk about it. I mean, I don’t want to make her if she’d rather just not bring it up.”

“But it’s weird, isn’t it? Usually you two get everything together,” Kate pointed out what I’d been thinking lately. Yes, it was weird, but I also knew (and felt incredibly guilty whenever the thought crossed my mind) that there was something different between Bianca’s dancing and my own. In truth, there had always been a difference in our dancing. There was a difference between a lot of girls and myself. It felt boastful even to admit to myself but the reason I'd been better at ballet than my perfect, hard-working older sister, and the reason I'd been the only girl in my school to get chosen by an academy, was because I was working with a slight advantage. For whatever reason, the universe had made my hips more easily rotatable, my ankles more easily turned out, my feet more able to handle the technique it took to become a great dancer. I worked my ass off, we all did, but I'd always had just a little bit of an easier time. Until recently, Bianca had been able to keep up, but lately...not so much. 

“I know,” I acknowledged, "but Madam says she still might get a part in the show, and I hope she does. I wouldn’t want to do it without her.”

“That’s nice Rox, but you shouldn’t feel guilty about your successes. You did really well and you worked really hard for that,” Kate encouraged. Although the other reason I wanted Bianca in the show wasn't as noble; I wanted her around me so that I could keep a closer eye on her.

That night, Ruairi and I went out to celebrate my audition victory. After being snapped by a few paps on the way to the restaurant (“Roxy! How does the Duchess of Cambridge feel about your new boyfriend being the son of an IRA?”), we sat down in a cozy booth and ordered a bottle of wine more expensive than either of us could reasonably afford. That was another thing I liked about Ruairi; he wasn’t completely out of touch with the fact that I’d lived most of my life “on the dole,” as he called welfare. I thought that sounded a lot nicer than “food stamps.” “Cheers, to your place in the show,” he clinked his glass to mine.

“Oh? A show honoring a member of the firm?” I referred to the nickname for the royal family.

Ruairi ignored my question. “So when will you get your places?”

“Saturday. The list goes up during conditioning, which they probably did on purpose,” I muttered bitterly before whining, “Why do they make us wait so long every time?”

Chuckling, Ruairi shook his head. “I suppose that’s just the way of those cruel ballerinas. They’re not happy people. Probably because they’re always hungry.” I jokingly agreed with him. “Speaking of hungry ballerinas, have you had the talk with Bianca?” I only had to give him a guilty look for Ruairi to know that I hadn’t. He leaned across the table and, in a hushed tone, insisted, “Roxy, you have to talk to her. Her legs are so the size of matchsticks, I honestly don’t know how she’s standing. And her skin looks like a banana.” It wasn’t exactly that bad, but she had developed some blotches of yellow around her elbows and knees.

It had taken me a while to agree with Ruairi about Bianca’s physical appearance. He was more aggressive about it, not in an intrusive way, just more proactive about it; but my first instinct with my friends was to protect them. Now, however, I was more willing to agree with him that there certainly seemed to be a problem. “I know,” I admitted, "and it’s not just her weight. She’s been acting completely out of character lately. Last year when I was with Harry – “

“Do we have to talk about that?” Ruairi asked with a smirk, and I knew he was just having a dig at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Bianca always had my back whenever I was feeling like a hot mess. Now it’s like she’s the one going bat shit crazy.”

Ruairi shook his head. “These are all classic signs of anorexia.”

I knew he was right. I’d read all about it on the internet. Among my other discoveries was that apparently it was pretty common for women who had been sexually abused to develop eating disorders. All of the pieces were adding up, and I was more frightened than anything thinking that it was just a matter of time before I’d be back in a room with a doctor, waiting at the bedside of someone I loved.  
*** 

I had thought that the Saturday spent waiting for the call back list was the longest conditioning class ever, but I was proven wrong by the Saturday when the cast list went up. They were posting it in the main lobby of the school at 10am, right in the middle of conditioning. At ten o’clock, however, you could feel the energy in the room skyrocket, and out of nerves, girls got careless. “I know you’re nervous,” Madam acknowledged, “but this is not the time to forget yourselves, ladies.” We all took a deep breath and tried to get back on track.

I wasn’t exactly sure how many spots there were available, just that William and Harry planned on including some of the more famous dances from the classics – _Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Don Quixote, Swan Lake, Giselle, La Sylphide_ , and _The Nutcracker_. My dream casting would be the Sugar Plum Fairy in the piece from _The Nutcracker_ , but I would be just as happy with any spot in the show. Unless, of course, Bianca didn’t make it. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that potential problem. 

Luckily, I didn’t have to find out. Bianca and I rushed downstairs to the lobby after class, along with every other student at the RBA. “Why did they only make one list?” I snapped while B and I tried desperately to push our way to the front of the cluster. When we finally got there, my stomach flopped about five times before I scanned down the list, exactly as I’d done with the call backs. This time, however, before I celebrated, I looked for Bianca’s name, chewing on my bottom lip like it was a piece of gum. Finally, my eyes landed on her name and I let out the scream I’d been holding in, throwing my arms around her. I noticed that she winced at my tight hug, but she screamed and jumped up and down with me. I would be dancing the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy with Marcus, my Cavalier. Bianca had gotten one of four dancers in the Swan Lake pas de quatre (which was a way more difficult piece than mine).  
We broke away from our hug and, still giggling and excited about the good news, scrambled out of the girls all huddled together. “See! I told you!” I squealed at Bianca.

She let out a relieved sigh. “I think I’m still in shock!”

“Come on, let’s go call Kate and Pippa and we’ll celebrate!” I suggested, certain that Bianca couldn’t possibly blow off a celebratory wine night under the guise of going for a run.

Right before we left the group of our classmates, however, I heard Jamie Eggert bitterly hiss to Sara Dawes, “Did you hear that? ‘Go call Kate and Pippa.’”

“I know,” Sara hissed back. “Gee, I wonder if I would have fucked Prince Harry I’d get a part better than the corps.”

The word “fuming” was an understatement. I was livid; I was irate; I was infuriated. And then, just days after I had feared that my old friend Bianca was gone for good, she turned around and snapped at them, “Probably not, since you’re probably just as shit in bed as you are at dancing. Now fuck off.” Jamie and Sara, all talk, scurried away and Bianca turned to me. Half of her mouth lifted into the familiar smirk from the past year and my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. “Slags,” she muttered before taking my hand so we could go celebrate.

***

Kate and William had to go to some charity thing the next day, and were staying at KP that night. Pippa was there hanging out by the time we called them up, and no one seemed to keen to head out to one of the pubs where we were safe from prying eyes. “Just come over here,” Kate encouraged. “It’s a big place, Roxy.”

“Yeah, I know,” I told her. “But it’s…it’ll be weird.” I'd suggested leaving the apartment, somewhat terrified of running into Harry on his home turf. Clearly William and Kate had their own place now so he wasn't sharing with William any more, but it wasn't unusual for the boys to still act like they were. Everyone was always in and out of each others apartments - it was like _Friends_ but with more diamonds and oil paintings.  
“It won’t be weird. Come on, we’ve got champagne.”

Giggling, I agreed. I couldn’t be in that bad of a mood anyway, because…I’d just gotten a part in the show! “Are you sure about this?” Bianca asked before we left.

“Yeah, sure! Come on! They have champagne!” So, still bubbly and euphoric from our casting, we headed to Kensington Palace.

“Congratulations!” the Middletons chorused, opening the front door of the apartment. 

“Thanks!” Bianca said. “I can’t believe it, I thought my audition went so poorly.”

Pippa opened the bottle of champagne with a pop and poured some into flutes for us. “Well, obviously, you were wrong! Cheers, to Bianca being wrong!” Laughing, we all clinked our glasses together.

“Oh, and you won’t _believe_ what these bitches were saying about Roxy,” Bianca told Kate and Pippa. “Saying that she only got the part because she slept with Harry and stuff.”

“Oh, no!” Kate let out. “How horrible!”

“Horrible that they can’t do math, because the last time Harry and I boned it was in May. Which was almost a _year_ ago.”

From the doorway, I heard someone clear his throat, and immediately turned bright red. Of _course_ Harry had chosen that exact moment to walk into the kitchen. “Oh. Hey Haz,” Pippa snickered. “Speak of the devil.” 

Harry blushed almost as hard as me. 

“We were just celebrating,” Bianca offered, trying desperately to ease the tension. “But then I guess you already knew that. Want some champagne?” I elbowed her hard in the ribs and she winced, doubling over, before squeaking out, “Right. Awkward. Sorry.”

To my utter relief, Harry chuckled. “S’alright.”

We were joined shortly afterwards by Dr. Rosenblum. “Oh, hello there Roxy. Nice to see you again.”

“Hey Dr. R. Is this…is this okay?” I asked of the champagne.

Dr. Rosenblum looked to Harry. “You’ll have to ask him.”

The four of us all looked at him, as well, and I hoped he didn’t feel any pressure to say that it was okay for us to be drinking if he really was uncomfortable with it. “Don’t mind me,” he allowed, holding his palms up to us.

Then, Dr. Rosenblum frowned. He had never met Bianca before, but from her apology for her offer, she clearly knew about Harry’s problem. “Is there anyone in England who _doesn’t_ know what happened, Harry?” he asked. 

“Oh, it’s not his fault, I told Bianca,” I confessed, and then added, “Sorry. But she’s my absolute best friend, and she won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“It’s true, I won’t,” Bianca vowed, crossing her heart. 

Dr. R’s eyebrows rose and he looked at the Middletons and then Harry. “Bianca?” he asked, obviously interested. Harry nodded and also looked at Pippa and Kate. Something weird was going on…I made a mental note to ask about it later. “Well, we were just off to a meeting,” Dr. R stated. “See you ladies later.”

I waved good-bye and, when the door was shut, Pippa broke out her ipod. “More of Roxy’s Rockin’ Playlist?” I asked.

She waved a hand. “No way. I’m over that. It’s time for a classic,” she said, and I was glad to hear the familiar opening baseline of “Wannabe.”

***

Later that night, I was helping Kate wash our wine glasses and the dishes we’d made homemade pizzas on. I’d watched carefully as Bianca cut up her pizza (to which she hadn’t even added cheese) into bite-size pieces and popped a few of them into her mouth. I was actually relieved; this had to be progress, right? “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends,” I hummed at the sink. 

“So,” Kate started. “Are you worried about what Bianca said?”

“About what?”

“About you getting the part just because of…you know…Harry.”

“Bianca didn’t say that, it was the other girls,” I pointed out. “And no, I couldn’t care any less about what they think.” Although…not but a few days ago Bianca _had_ been the one to imply that the auditions were going to be easier for me because of Harry. She’d claimed she’d meant something else, but I knew perfectly well what she meant. I was sure that she’d just said it in a moment of stress and anger, but it still bothered me when I thought about it.

After we’d cleaned up the kitchen, Bianca asked, “Hey, I’m exhausted. Wanna head out soon?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, also pretty beat. “I’ll just um…I’ll be right back.”

She gave me a suspicious look. “Where are you going?”

“Just…I’ll be right back!” I repeated, and the three girls all gave each other knowing glances.

It felt like I was sneaking around as I crossed the path to the other row of apartments and quietly climbed the steps to Harry’s bedroom. (Like I said, they were always in and out. These people never locked their doors. Which was of course more surprising than when Monica and Chandler did it because they had way more stuff worth stealing.) He’d come back from a meeting with Dr. R earlier that night and headed for the gym at KP. Kate had told us that Dr. R was trying to get Harry onto a routine schedule, thinking that he should have a routine to stabilize him since a lot of his life could get crazy. Harry woke up, worked on some therapy, sometimes went to a morning meeting, took care of his royal duties, went to an afternoon meeting, worked out, and then started “winding down.” Part of “winding down” meant meditation with a specialist Dr. R had brought in. The thought of Harry sitting on a yoga mat, cross-legged and murmuring “om” made me giggle.

Outside of Harry’s bedroom stood a man in a red jacket. I recognized him, even so long after the last time I’d seen him. “Hey. Is he in?”

“Yes, Miss DeLaSearle,” he told me, not batting an eye at seeing me back at KP. “He may be meditating. Just one moment.” The man lightly knocked on the door. 

Sounding sleepy, Harry answered, “Come in.”

The man in red nodded at me and I slowly opened the door. The last time I’d been in Harry’s bedroom, it had been a complete mess. Cigarettes stuffed into the overflowing ashtray, torn furniture, twisted bed sheets, empty bottles, and, yes, vomit on the floor. As per doctor’s orders, Harry had been keeping his room immaculate. For some reason, this made my heart flutter, just to see that he was keeping up with this simple task. 

Harry was, in fact, sitting on his floor, legs crossed, eyes closed. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants...and that was it. All right, I may have stared far too long at his abs. The pants sat sort of low and I could see the v shape under the waistband. It felt like my stomach jumped off the high-dive and my face got hot as I remembered all those times I’d trailed my lips down that v… _Get it together DeLaSearle_.

When Harry’s eyes fluttered open, I coughed and looked away from him, but not in time to miss the fact that the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, just for a second, when he saw me standing there. Quickly, he stood up, making the v even more visible. _Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look._ “Oh. Hi. I thought…you were someone else.” Harry didn’t make a move to open any dresser drawers. Okay, well, he clearly didn’t feel the need to put a shirt on.

“Oh, no, I hope I’m not…interrupting.” _Anywhere but the v, Roxy. Look at the fucking ceiling for God’s sake._

“No, I was just meditating.”

Amused, I asked, “So…you meditate now.”

Harry nodded. “I do. Bet you never thought you’d see the day.”

Shaking my head, I admitted, “No, you’re right about that.”

We were quiet for an awkward moment. Finally, Harry gestured to his room. “A lot better than the last time you saw it.”

“Yeah. I’m impressed,” I honestly agreed.

After another painful silence, Harry slowly asked, “So…what’s up?”

While I talked, he linked his fingers, lifted his arms and in the air, and stretched backwards, cracking his vertebrae. All of his muscles flexed. _All_ of them. _Okay, seriously? Is he doing this on purpose?_ “Well I just wanted to come by to ask…” My voice trailed off as Harry reached one arm back behind his head and used the opposite hand to press down on this elbow. He’d been fit when we’d dated, but all of this working out was definitely helping. My heart started pounding in my throat and I coughed as Harry switched arms. “Some of the girls at school have been saying that maybe I’d only gotten the part because of our…past.” When he was done stretching, Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and rummaged around in it. I tilted my head to the side and took the opportunity to shamelessly check him out. Hey, just because I had already ordered didn’t mean I couldn’t look at the menu! I also remembered that the drawer was where he kept his condoms. There were _many_ a night when we’d reached into that drawer more than once, depleting Harry’s supply of Trojans. After a minute (which was not nearly enough time if you asked me), he stood up straight and produced a lighter and a purple candle. When he lit it, the scent of lavender and jasmine filled the room. “And I just wanted to make sure that…you know, that wasn’t true.”

Harry turned back to face me with a frown. “Well…it’s not.” There was a beat and then he added, “There were three other people judging you.”

“ _I_ know that. But I mean, you do know that the Sugar Plum Fairy is my favorite dance.”

He chuckled. “Roxy, everyone who’s ever spoken to you for even a minute knows that’s your favorite dance.”

My heart warmed. “So…so you didn’t forget.”

Ever so slightly, Harry shook his head, and then softly confirmed, “No. No, I didn’t forget.”

I hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Any minute now, I was going to start humming the _Sleeping Beauty_ waltz, which was what I did when I was elated. I hadn’t done that since before Harry and I had broken up, but I wanted to do it now. “Well…thanks Harry. I know this means a lot to you and William.”

“Don’t thank me,” he shook his head. “It was all you.”

I smiled at him and turned around to leave the room...but then, just because it smelled so good in there, and just because it had been such an amazing day, I turned around and threw my arms around Harry’s shoulders. He stood there for a minute, his hard, strong body completely rigid. I didn’t care as I rested my head against his chest and breathed him in. Harry usually had this nice scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke, soap, and his own Harry aroma. Now, however, the whiskey and cigarette smoke was out of the combination, and he just smelled like himself – the way he smelled in the morning when he woke up. Morning Harry had been my absolute favorite thing on the planet when we were dating. His skin was so soft in the morning, and he always smelled so good then. He used to just curl his body around mine, or wrap one arm around me, gently stroking my hair while I rested my head on his chest, our legs all tangled up.

It took a second, but after his initial shock, Harry softened. He wrapped his arms around my lower back, loose, at first, but then tighter. He took a deep breath in and I could feel his heart pounding against his chest. So lightly that I could hardly feel it, he gathered a handful of my hair in his fist. I could tell that the strangled noise that rumbled out of his throat was involuntary, and I knew that I should pull away. _You have a boyfriend. You have a nice, sweet, hilarious, supportive boyfriend who isn’t nine months into the 12 Steps._ But I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was, re-familiarizing myself with this new Harry who was wrapped around me, because it wasn’t the same Harry who had snuggled against me all those months ago. He was stronger, and warmer, and softer. 

“Oh! Oh my God! Sorry!”

I jumped away from Harry and whirled around to where Bianca was covering her eyes with her hand and backing out of the room. “No, it’s fine!” I insisted in a shrill voice. “I was just leaving. Okay bye!” I waved at Harry and scurried out of the room. I shouted a quick goodbye to Pippa and Kate before yanking Bianca out of KP. “Don’t,” I warned as we walked back to the apartment. I didn’t know when or where a paparazzi may show up and catch the entire conversation on camera.

By the time we got back, I had already come up with the excuse I was going to throw out at Bianca. While she changed in her room into running gear, I sat on her bed. “I was just thanking him for casting me!”

“By making sweet love to him?” she asked, only half kidding.

“It was just a hug!”

“A shirtless hug.”

The blush came back to my cheeks. “Come on, you know I’m crazy about Ruairi.”

Bianca turned around to me. “Are you?” she asked.

“What? Yes! Of course!” I paused before asking, “Why? You think I’m not?”

Bianca considered this, obviously trying to figure out how to answer. “Well…I don’t know, it was like what Pippa said. He’s just, you know, a rebound guy. You don’t _have_ to be crazy about him. It just seems like…now that Harry’s doing well again…”

“Bianca, I can’t just dump the guy who’s been super supportive and nice to me because my _real_ boyfriend is done being a drug addict.”

“Hm. So he’s Lavinia.”

“… _What_?”

Laughing, Bianca insisted, “You know! Lavinia! From _Downton Abbey_!”

I gave her a flat look. “B, my life is not _Downton Abbey_.”

“It so is! Like, you’re Matthew when he was all paralyzed and thought he couldn’t get it up, and Harry is Mary, and Ruairi’s Lavinia.”

“Well then I should warn him he’s going to get Spanish flu and die.”

“You should warn him that you’re in love with someone else,” Bianca corrected me. 

“I’m not in love with someone else!” I affirmed.

“Are you sure?” Okay, so maybe I had to think about this for a minute. Taking advantage of my silence, Bianca reminded me, “You _did_ tell him you loved him before the doctor told you to leave KP.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But…I don’t know, I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Harry. That whole cliché thing about your first love, you know?” Bianca nodded. “But no, I’m not still in love with him. He’s…he’s different now. That Harry isn’t the same Harry I met last year, and I’m not the same Roxy he knew, either.”

“Well that makes sense,” Bianca agreed, "but it still doesn’t mean you have to stay with Ruairi.”

“But I like Ruairi.”

“’Like’ is not the same thing as ‘crazy about.’ You were _crazy about_ Harry. You _like_ Ruairi.”

Then, I admitted what was probably my biggest fear since I’d broken up with Harry. Looking down into my hands, thinking about that red string, I mumbled, “Well, maybe I don’t get to be crazy about someone else. Maybe that was just my relationship with Harry. Maybe nothing will ever be like that again.”

With a concerned look, Bianca sat on her bed across from me. “Roxy,” she reached out to give my shoulder a squeeze. “You can still have that wild, passionate love with someone. It won’t be like it was with Harry, because every person and every relationship is different, but it can be something _more_ than what you have with Ruairi right now.”

I actually didn’t really care or pay attention to what Bianca was saying. I cared more about the fact that we were sitting on her bed, having the sort of conversation we hadn’t had in a long time, maybe since I’d been tossed out of KP. Reaching over, I wrapped Bianca in a hug. “I love you, B.”

She pushed me off of her. “I didn’t mean you could have that wild, passionate love with _me_.” Laughing, I assured her I wasn’t and she smiled at me. “I love you too, Rox. I’ll see you later, I’m gonna go run off that pizza.” When she left, I thought to myself that with what little pizza she’d actually eaten, she wouldn’t have to run that far.


	68. And It's Over And I'm Going Under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + the Machine
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Looking up from the underneath,_  
_fractured moonlight on the sea._  
_Reflections still look the same to me_  
_as before I went under._  
_And it’s peaceful in the deep_  
_cathedral where you cannot breathe._  
_No need to pray, no need to speak._  
_Now I am under all._

The day after my extremely inappropriate hugging encounter, I woke up with a gasp, clutching my hand to my heart. I couldn’t remember what had happened in my dream, I only felt terrified. I’d probably had some sort of nightmare about living in an episode of _Downton Abbey_. But it felt like…it felt like…looking down at my hands, I shook them out in front of me. 

It wasn’t until I’d looked down at my fingers, at the invisible threat I could have sworn I felt, that I remembered the dream. I’d been in Harry’s room at KP, alone, sitting on his bed. I’d just been sitting there, winding a piece of red thread around and around and around my finger. Harry had come into the room, wearing the pair of grey sweat pants he’d been in yesterday. Quietly, he’d sat on the bed next to me, and I’d started wrapping the thread around his finger.

I could still feel that thread, wound tight around my knuckle. 

Shaking my head, I got out of bed and started getting ready for school. 

_And it’s breaking over me._  
_A thousand miles down to the sea bed_  
_found the place to rest my head._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._

Now that auditions were over, I didn’t think the guys would be coming around to school as much. Thankfully, I was correct. They weren’t there for practice the next day, or the day after that. My days were Harry-free, which cranked my anxiety down by about a thousand. On the days that he did stop by, though, usually unannounced, I felt like I’d taken a shot of hot sauce and chased it with an ice cube. My stomach clenched up, and a chill trickled down my spine. 

It hadn’t been like this before. I knew that I was just letting what Bianca said get to me. My life was not _Downton Abbey_ , it wasn’t some romantic comedy. I wasn’t just with Rory until Harry and I could share some dramatic kiss in the rain. This was my life, and real life didn’t work like that. In real life, you had to live with your mistakes. In real life, you had to live with the fact that you’d sat back and watched while someone you loved fell down the rabbit hole. You had to live with the fact that you’d let him fall, the fact that you’d walked away, the whole time studpidly thinking that it was your choice when you’d really never had one.

See, that’s where Bianca was wrong. I wasn’t in this _Downton_ -esque love triangle, because I didn’t have a choice. Things were simpler when your life and all the things you said were written by someone else. At any moment, someone could speak up about their true feelings, because they _had_ those feelings to hide. But it wasn’t like that for me. Harry didn’t love me anymore, and that was okay, because I didn’t love him anymore, either. Really. 

_____And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,_  
_and all this devotion was rushing out of me_  
_in the crushes of heaven for a sinner like me,_  
_but the arms of the ocean delivered me._

__Since it was getting closer and closer to spring, the weather was getting warmer. I hadn’t really had the opportunity to look before, because he’d been tucked into sweaters, so when Harry came into the studio wearing a blue button down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, my eyes shot to where, only a few months ago, there had been black and purple bruises the size of plums. Back then, you could see the holes burning into his skin, like snake venom. Really it was all the same stuff anyway, just two different kinds of poison._ _

__My eyes shot down to his arms to see if the marks had gone away, but Harry’s hands flew up to guard them and he crossed his arms over his chest. I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me trying to look or not, but I kind of got the feeling he had. I tried to forget about it and get back to practicing with Marcus. We were taking five and discussing our piece when I saw Marcus’s eyes travel down to my hands._ _

__Without knowing it, I had been scratching the inside of my elbow. I’d been doing it for so long that I’d burst some blood vessles, and there were raspberries bursting under my skin. I hadn’t even been doing it, not consciously. Marcus’s eyes flicked from my arms to Harry. I turned to look, too, and saw that he was doing the exact same thing. Marcus might have thought it was weird that we were both doing the same thing, but he didn’t catch on the reason – that Harry’s veins were used to more attention then they’d been getting lately._ _

__Harry caught me watching him, and I saw him realize that I’d been scratching his itch, too. _You came here because you felt, in a sense, that a part of you was here already_ , Dr. R’s voice rang in my head. Slowly, Harry rolled his sleeves back down and shoved his hands in his pockets. I turned back to Marcus and shook my head, trying not to think about the fact that I’d been having that dream every night, the one where I was tying us together._ _

_____Though the pressure’s hard to take,_  
_it’s the only way I can escape._  
_It seems a heavy choice to make,_  
_and now I am under all._

__Pippa stopped by one night after Bianca and I were done with practice. We were seeing less and less of each other, which was understandable since Bianca and I were spending most of our time in practice studios. The sad part was that we weren’t even in the same piece, so we weren’t practicing together. If I had B by my side, then seeing Harry all the time would have been a lot easier. She would have made sure I didn’t do that crazy arm-scratching thing. I’d caught myself doing it more and more lately, and I was pretty sure I was going to start breaking skin soon._ _

__B and I had only caught Harry waiting outside the apartment the one time, and definitely not since he and I had talked at KP. So I was surprised when, as Pippa and I sat on the couch with glasses of wine, B hissed from the kitchen, “Pip! Come see, quick!”_ _

__Pippa frowned and got up off the couch. I did, too, and looked out the window where Bianca was peering through the blinds. Pippa’s reaction was more or less the same as ours had been. She looked confused at first, squinting at the blacked out Range Rover with a thin stream of smoke floating out of the window. “Wait a minute…that’s not…is that…”_ _

__“It is,” Bianca confirmed. “This isn’t the first time he’s done it, either.”_ _

__Pippa looked like she wasn’t sure if she was amused or horrified, which was more or less how B and I felt about the whole situation. Finally, she turned to me. “Roxy, you’ve got to go out there. Put the poor thing out of his misery!”_ _

__“Why?” I asked defensively before pointing out, “I’m not the one who put him there!” Bianca and Pippa blinked at my harsh reaction. Pippa had been half-joking and I’d kind of bitten her head off. But that was only because…it was only because…In a small, strangled voice, I asked, “Right?”_ _

__Pippa wrapped me up in a comforting hug that all of the Middletons seemed to have perfected. “Of course,” she assured me. “Of course you didn’t.”_ _

_____And it’s breaking over me._  
_A thousand miles down to the sea bed_  
_found the place to rest my head._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._

__The way that our piece was set up was that I had a solo, then Marcus, and then we had our grande pas de deux. The pas de deux was my favorite, and I loved working on it, but the night after I’d caught Harry out the window again I wanted to be anywhere but home, so I hung around the studio after class to practice my solo. It wasn’t that he creeped me out. I didn’t think he was hiding in the car with binoculars, a bottle of Jergens, and some tissues while watching me change. I just wasn’t sure what he _was_ doing, and I was positive that I didn’t want to find out._ _

__Before I knew it, the sun had gone down and I was patting my damp chest with a towel. If I’d actually made any progress on making the dance tighter, better, or more perfect, I didn’t know, but that wasn’t really why I was here anyway. I had hoisted my dance bag onto my shoulder and was ready to leave the studio when Harry appeared in the doorway. For someone so tall, he was good at sneaking up on me. “Oh. Hi. I um…I didn’t know you were here.”_ _

__Harry nodded. “Right. I had something to give you, and I thought I’d find you here.” Before I could ask why he didn’t just go to my apartment, he offered up, “I didn’t want to go to your flat. I wouldn’t want people to start thinking…” He let the rest of the sentence go because we both knew what he meant._ _

__I nodded slowly. We stood there awkwardly for what felt like forever before I cleared my throat. “So you had something to give me?”_ _

__Harry had obviously forgotten completely about whatever he had to give me. He looked confused for a minute before remembering what I was talking about. “Right,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He produced a DVD in a plastic case and handed it to me._ _

__“Um…a blank CD? Aw, you shouldn’t have…”_ _

__He forced out a fake smile at me. “It’s um…Dr. R and I have been going through some of my stuff of Mum’s and um…we found these. I thought…I thought you might want to take a look.” I looked from the disc back up to Harry. Before I could ask him what it was, he offered, “It’s some film I found.”_ _

__“Of your mother?” I asked._ _

__He nodded. “Yeah. She’s um…she used to dance.”_ _

__Immediately, I tried to hand the DVD back over to him. “No, Harry, these are yours,” I insisted, meaning the memories being held in that flimsy disc. “I can’t take it.”_ _

__Harry looked hurt, and I immediately felt like a jerk. He’d gone out of his way to do something nice for me, make me something he thought I’d like, and I was throwing it back in his face. “I thought…I thought you’d want to see…”_ _

__“Of course I do,” I tried to explain, “but I wouldn’t want you to…give up something so personal.”_ _

__His steely blue eyes flicked up to mine and I felt my face start to burn up. The man had been inside me – the time for personal boundaries was long gone. Instead of acknowledging the ridiculousness of this statement, I tucked the DVD away inside my dance bag and thanked him, standing on my tip-toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. When I pulled back, Harry’s jaw was tense and I could tell that his teeth were clenched. He reached back up and started digging into the pits of his elbow. I took his hand in mine, running my thumb over the bumps and scratches. I heard him suck in a breath and hold it. Finally, I mustered up the courage to ask, in a small voice, “Does it hurt?”_ _

__Harry didn’t say anything. I looked back up at him. His face showed no emotion at all; eyes vacant, lips only slightly parted. “Not so much,” he responded in a low murmur. “Not anymore.” He didn’t have to tell me he wasn’t talking about the bruises._ _

_____And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,_  
_and all this devotion was rushing out of me_  
_in the crushes of heaven for a sinner like me,_  
_but the arms of the ocean delivered me._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._

__Out of nowhere, Paolo called out, “Harry. Meeting.”_ _

__Harry and I jumped and Harry obliged Paolo. He forced out a weak smile at me before turning on his heel and walking away. And all I could do was watch._ _

_____And it’s over,_  
_and I’m going under,_  
_but I’m not giving up,_  
_I’m just giving in._  
_I’m slipping underneath,_  
_so cold and so sweet._

__It didn’t take a therapist as well-renowned as Dr. R to figure out what I was doing. I watched the video of Princess Diana dancing over and over and over again, because it made my heart hurt. And maybe I deserved that right now. Maybe I deserved to be miserable, because of what I’d let happen with Harry, and because what I was doing with Ruairi, and because I was just a shitty, shitty person being pulled in different shitty directions._ _

_____And the arms of the ocean so sweet and so cold_  
_and all this devotion I never knew at all_  
_in the crushes of heaven for a sinner released_  
_and the arms of the ocean delivered me._

__Bianca came in from a run while I was sitting on the couch, sobbing in front of the home movies Harry had given me. I knew I was probably just being dramatic, but watching Harry’s mother dance was chilling. The wings of the stage got drafty and always reminded me of the ghosts of nervous dancers. That’s what Princess Diana looked like – just a ghost, floating and twirling on stage._ _

__“Roxy,” she said, sitting down on the couch next to me. “You have to stop watching this.”_ _

__“Why?” I asked, pulling another tissue out of the box and blowing my nose with it._ _

__“Because! It’s making you miserable! Look at you! You’ve been crying for three days!”_ _

__I took a deep, rattling breath before mumbling, “Well maybe I just want to feel miserable right now.”_ _

__Bianca sighed, and I knew she understood. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, she asked, “Well…do you think it’s okay if I’m here being miserable with you?” I had never been more grateful for my best friend in the entire time we’d known each other._ _

_____Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._  
_Deliver me._

__While we watched Diana, I thought that Bianca had more in common with Harry than I did, really. They’d both lost a parent, after all. So I wasn’t completely surprised when she started crying, too. There was no reason to address it or try to console each other. We both just wanted to be miserable right then._ _

__And I almost did it. Right there, being miserable with my best friend who had cut herself open, taken out her deepest, darkest secret and showed it to me, I almost admitted to her what I was afraid of. Which was what I really wanted._ _

_____And it’s over,_  
_and I’m going under._  
_But I’m not giving up,_  
_I’m just giving in._

__Somewhere, down in the deepest depths of my chest, buried under harsh reality and lessons learned long ago that life wasn’t fair; that grave anchor pulling my heart down to a place that used to be occupied by the hope that my father was going to come walking back through our front door, that’s where I felt it. That’s where I felt that red thread, still pulling us together. Maybe now we were tangled, or caught up. But that thread was still there._ _

__“B,” I swallowed. She looked at me expectantly._ _

__The words fizzled in my throat and disappeared._ _

__“Do you want me to make some tea?”_ _

__“I’ll get it,” she sniffled, and went to boil water._ _

_____I’m slipping underneath,_  
_so cold and so sweet._  
_Never let me go._  
_Never let me go._


	69. Arts & Leisure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

The Sunday after we’d gotten the results, I was still feeling pretty good about my part and decided to go for breakfast when I woke up. Bianca was already gone, wanting to get a head start with the three other girls she was performing with at the studio. I called Ruairi and asked if he wanted to meet me out for brunch. While I wolfed down a full English breakfast, I told him about yesterday. “You should have seen B, Ruairi. She was back to her old self. I mean, not that you’d be able to tell because you didn’t know her old self, but believe me, she was awesome. We drank champagne, we danced to the Spice Girls. It was the perfect night.” _Oh yeah and I sexually objectified my ex-boyfriend._

Ruairi smiled. “Good. I’m so proud of you, Roxy.”

I gulped down my guilt before pushing out a smile. “Thanks!”

And then he had to go and ruin it. “You know, it’s sort of ironic for Bianca to be performing in the concert.”

“How so?” I asked.

Ruairi shrugged. “Because she might have an eating disorder, and so did Diana.”

“Okay, first of all, that's not irony. Second, I _just_ finished telling you Bianca is fine. Also, I don’t appreciate you making light of Princess Diana’s eating disorder.” This was my mother coming out. I remembered back to last New Year’s Eve when, a little buzzed from too much champagne, she’d insisted, “She _suffered_.”

Ruairi scoffed. “I’m sure her life was very hard with all of her money and all of her vacations and all of her jewelry.”

“You don’t know anything about her.”

“Neither do you.”

I leaned across the table and squinted at him. “Really? You want to do this right now?”

“I just don’t see why it’s necessary to have a concert when we just had one a few years back, honoring some rich woman who was off her rocker.”

My blood was boiling, singeing my bones. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her. Like. That,” I warned Ruairi in a low voice, and then asked for the check.

“I’m entitled to my opinion,” he insisted when we got back to the apartment.

“Yeah, you are, but you’re not entitled to offend me and my friends.”

“How did I offend you _or_ your friends?”

“By calling one of their mother’s a crazy person!” I pointed out. “Not to mention that you essentially just said that you think the thing I’ve been working towards for the past several months is stupid!”  
“I think the concert is unnecessary, I never said stupid, and I never said it was your dancing,” he argued.

I was about to retort that it was basically the same thing, but the door flew open and Bianca came in like a tornado. She was holding a copy of _The Mail on Sunday_ and I noticed that her face was red. She was crying. “Look!” she demanded, shoving the tabloid in my face.

On the cover was a small picture of her in the corner. Someone had taken it when she was running in the park. She looked scary thin; way thinner than she was in real life. It wasn’t just me in denial - the magazine had clearly photo-shopped the size of her bones. Even Ruairi let out a, “Whoa.” The white letters read, _Lady Winchester’s Secret!_ I tore through the magazine to the story, which was all about Bianca and how her “friends” were worried about her. I knew that these so-called friends were other bitchy girls at school, probably the same girls who talked shit about me to the press. “B, I’m so sorry,” I offered, knowing that it didn’t help.

“Why – would – they – do – this?” she gasped through her tears. 

I shrugged, at a total loss. “I don’t know. Jealousy? Because you got a part and they didn’t?” Remembering yesterday, I added, “I bet you it was those little bitches Jamie and Sara!”

“I don’t c-c-care who it was!” she shouted. “I care that my pictures are all over the paper! And his!” she pointed to Ruairi. “Just because we’re friends with _you_!” 

Looking at Ruairi, I wasn’t sure if she meant this to be as accusatory as it sounded. I may as well have been a serial killer. He just shrugged, unable to clear up my silent confusion. “B, it’s not like I have any control over this stuff. Believe me, it makes me just as mad as it makes you.” And, not for nothing, but I had been the victim of the press _way_ more times than this, and about stuff that was a lot worse. When Bianca had hundreds of people waiting for her to get out of the car, hoping for a flash of her panties (or hoping that she wasn’t wearing any at all), then I’d have more sympathy for her. I mean, I felt bad and everything, but this wasn’t my fault. 

“I’m calling Harry,” she demanded, before stomping up the stairs and slamming her door.

Feeling defeated, I turned to Ruairi. “Well…shit.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know you feel bad,” he said, and I knew there was a second part coming. "But the papers have never said anything about Bianca before, and they wouldn’t be talking about her now unless they had a reason.”

“The _reason_ is that some bitches at school are pissed that she got a part in the concert and they didn’t!”

“Maybe, but if they're bitter about getting parts in the show, why go after Bianca? Why not go with the easier story – that you just got one because you shagged a judge?” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Ruairi cut in, “I’m only joking. Come on, you know this isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, I know. Which is why…I mean, I feel bad, but…”

Ruairi knew where I was heading without making me finish my sentence, probably because he'd reached this conclusion well before I had. “But the reason you got mad at the rumors that I’m IRA is because I’m not. And the reason you got mad about rumors that you were getting the part because of you and Harry is because it’s not true. But you know that, just this once, the papers might have it right.” With a sigh, I gave him a helpless look. Ruairi smiled kindly at me before giving me a comforting hug. Well, if nothing else at least Bianca had diffused our tension.

***

Monday after conditioning, I cornered Jamie and Sara in the locker room. “I know it was one of you,” I hissed.

They looked at each other and than back at me. “One of us what?” Jamie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“One of you who told the papers that Bianca has an eating disorder.”

Sara threw her head back and let out a bitter laugh. “Ha! That is rich, Roxy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the whole school knows she’s been running to the bathroom after she eats, which is rare anyway,” Jamie pointed out. “We didn’t say anything. Besides, shouldn’t you be more concerned about your friend’s eating disorder than you are about who’s saying what?”

“Yeah, we’re not blind, Roxy. Anyone with eyes can see that something’s going on.”

Letting out a huff, I pointed my finger at them. “Well I still don’t believe you. But...just in case you’re telling the truth…sorry,” I apologized before walking away.

After school that day we were having a meeting with everyone in the show about our practice schedules. Normally at this point in the year, we'd be working on spring workshop. Last year, it had meant the absolute world to me, but Madam let us know that all of the students who had secured places in the concert would be judged on that performance, and would not have to be a part of spring shop. While I was glad that I wouldn't have to worry about dance classes, academic classes, the concert, and spring shop, I also kind of wish she'd told us that before we'd gone out for the show. If I'd known the biggest performance of my life was also going to be my final, I maybe would have rethought things... 

We were headed back up to the studio to get started practicing when a girl tapped me on the shoulder. It was Susie Jordan, a third year who was dancing the _Swan Lake_ piece with Bianca. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I looked at Bianca, seeing if she knew what this was about. She shrugged and continued to the studio to join the other two girls dancing with she and Susie. “What’s up?” I asked.

Susie bit down on her lip. “I heard you talking to Sara and Jamie today in the locker room, and…I wanted you to know that it wasn’t them who told the press about Bianca.”

“Oh, really? Do you know who it was?” I asked.

With a guilty nod, Susie admitted, “It was me.” I opened my mouth to ream her out but she started trying to explain. “It was an accident! We went out to celebrate and we met these guys at a bar, and one of them said he was friends with Prince Harry, and we said we went to school with you, and then we started talking about the concert, and then we sort of…we might have hinted that Bianca was ill. And then the next day it was…everywhere.”

“None of that means you were the leak. It doesn’t sound like you told a journalist or anything.”

Susie winced and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. But…well, the guy at the club…he seemed to have an axe to grind with you and Bianca. And the stuff in the magazine was word for word what we said to him.”

My heart sank. “This guy, in the club, was he about this tall,” I held my hand to about where Guy’s head would be, “blonde, kinda sleezey.”

“Oh, he was sleezey all right,” Susie enthusiastically agreed. “He was telling every girl at the bar that he was friends with Prince Harry, showing off pictures of them on his phone and everything.”

Yeah, that was Guy. I nodded, trying to keep my anger under the surface. “Well don’t worry about it. It was an accident,” I waved a hand.

“Yes," Susie nodded slowly, "it was, but Roxy…I mean, there is something wrong with her. Me and the others have been talking about it. I’m worried she won’t be able to dance in the show.” Lowering her voice, she reminded me, “You know what happens when they find out something’s wrong.” The RBA had a strict no tolerance policy towards dancers with eating disorders. Well, formally they had a strict no tolerance policy. There were plenty of girls at school who had obvious eating disorders, some way worse than Bianca’s. All my life instructors had turned a blind eye to girls who were too thin, and the RBA seemed to be doing the same with Bianca, if her issues were as bad and as obvious as Sara, Jamie, and now Susie were all claiming.  
I looked around before letting out a huff. “Look, just…don’t say anything to anyone, okay? I’ll deal with it.” Susie nodded and I turned on my heel to go meet Marcus.

***

There were two problems. The first was that Bianca, while she had seemed to be a bit better after the cast list was posted, was still clearly suffering from a very serious eating disorder. The second was that the press was reporting on it. They also kept screaming with headlines about Rory once every couple of days. I felt incredibly guilty about this, but I didn’t have time to deal with it between my regular dance classes, my academic class finals, and rehearsals for the concert. Outside of the show, my main problem was trying to figure out what to do about B. I didn’t want to tell Madam and risk getting her kicked out of school, and other than just trying to talk to her about it flat out, I didn’t know what other option there was. With Harry, the problem had been easy to figure out in a split second: he had a drug addiction, and therefore he needed rehab. Did people go to rehab for eating disorders? Or did they go…somewhere else? Somewhere worse? The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for locking Bianca up in the Cuckoo’s Nest.

It was Madam who gave me the idea for the solution to my friends in the tabloids. She called me into her office one night after rehearsals for the concert. “ _Oui_ Madam?” I asked, sitting down across from her desk.

“Roxanna, I hate to ask you this but… _Arts & Leisure Magazine_ has requested and interview with you.”

I paused. “Um…what?”

Nodding, Madam sighed, “They want to do a piece on the concert. This includes you.”

“But…it includes a lot of other people, too,” I slowly stated. I wasn’t the only one in the concert.

“They’re speaking with lots of other artists – other musicians, entertainers, et cetera. For the dancers, they’ve chosen you. I’ve told them that you would deny this request, of course. They’re all just starting to relax about you, at least when compared to the… _drama_ of last year,” she compared, "but they wanted me to check with you before we said no.”

I was about to confirm what she had already assumed, but I remembered something. Last year, just as Harry and I had officially started dating, he’d agreed to talk about me in an interview. In exchange, the press would let us have our privacy. _Arts & Leisure_ wasn’t the sort of magazine filling their pages with fake stories about me, my friends, and people who I may or may not have been dating, but if they could sell excerpts of the interview to other magazines that _did_ run those kinds of stories, I might be able to talk the reporters into backing off Ruairi and Bianca. “Actually Madam, I’ll do it.”

Madam blinked, and then in a disappointed tone, said, “Roxanna. You’ve never wanted to do anything like this before.”

“I know,” I sighed, "but I think if I do this interview, then I can work out a deal and they’ll leave my friends alone. Honestly, they can print what they want about me, but I can’t let them do that to my friends.”

“Well, I can’t say I don’t admire that. Do you want the number of the reporter you’re supposed to contact?” Madam answered, pulling a business card out of her desk drawer.

“No thanks,” I waved a hand. “I think…I think I should talk this over with Clarence House. Or…Saint James. I don’t really know.”

Chuckling, Madam answered, “When you do know, good luck.”  
***

I called Kate that afternoon and she instructed me on what we’d do. The Prince’s Office would put in a call to all of the major editors and tell them the situation. I would sit for an interview with _A &L_, excerpts of which they would sell to other tabloids. In return, the press would lay off my friends. When I told Bianca this plan, she raised an eyebrow and said nothing. “What?” I finally asked.

She shrugged before muttering, “Don’t do me any favors.”

So Bianca’s evil twin had come back, apparently. “What is that supposed to mean?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Just that I’m sure it’s very hard for you to give an interview to a magazine.”

“It is hard, Bianca. I haven’t done this for the entire two years that you’ve known me, and I’m doing it now in the hopes that they won’t go after you and Rory anymore,” I snapped. “What, do you think I’m doing this to get my face on a magazine cover again?”

Bianca shrugged again. “I don’t know, maybe.”

I literally did not believe what she was saying. She may as well have reached out and smacked me in the face. “Fine. The next time they go after you, don’t come running to me,” I snapped before going up to my room and slamming my door.

***

_Roxanna DeLaSearle is late getting to the café in Covent Garden. She sweeps in wearing a pair of jeans over a black leotard and a teal wrap sweater. Her now-trademark raven waves are still up in a bun and, under her jeans, her pink tights are rolled up to her ankles. “So sorry I’m late. I know I’m not exactly making a fashion statement right now.” After she orders a cappuccino, she lets out a sigh and relaxes. “It’s been crazy with the concert and school. I’m running from class to rehearsals for the concert, then back home to do homework and study for finals, and to get a few hours of sleep if I'm lucky. But I’m not complaining!” she assures me. Over a cappuccino (for her) and tea (for me) we discuss her career at the Royal Ballet Academy and her nerves for the Concert for Diana. She remains, however, tight-lipped about her royal ex._

**A &L:** So, are you nervous?

**R:** You know, I’m not. I usually don’t get nerves until the very last second, like, standing in the wings. And then I freak out for like, three seconds before I go on. It’s a pretty good strategy.

**A &L:** Is this the biggest show you’ve ever been in?

**R:** Are you kidding me?! Of course it is! I mean, I’ve danced at the Opera House before, but never for a crowd this big. And this performance is super important. I don’t want to embarrass myself, as is wont to happen to me.

**A &L:** There are a lot of people who will say that, as an American, you really don’t have a good enough understanding of the Princess of Wales to be dancing in a performance this important. What do you have to say to that?

**R:** Well, I certainly understand where they’re coming from. But…okay, this is humiliating, but my older sister and I used to dress up in bed sheets and pretend we were Princess Diana on her wedding day. I cried the day she died. I went to school the next day and was crying and my teacher asked what was wrong and I said I was sad about Princess Diana, so we had to have this huge talk in school about dealing with our grief and how it was okay to be sad. So I think I have at least an idea of the magnitude of this event.

**A &L:** And, obviously, dating her son for a year gave you an appreciation for how important she was.

**R:** Yup.

**A &L:** There have also been girls who have spoken to the press and said the only reason you got the part is because you were auditioning for your ex-boyfriend.

**R:** You know, that doesn’t even make any sense. There were three other judges on the panel. You know, like Pop Idol. The headmistress of the school and the director of the company were both there along with Harry and William, and believe me, if I didn’t deserve it, they never would have given it to me.

**A &L:** So you don’t think that Prince Harry had anything to do with it?

**R:** Nope.

**A &L:** And do you think it’s affected rehearsals? Has there been any weirdness being around your ex for such long periods of time?

**R:** No. We’re both adults.

**A &L:** Have you tapped into any of the information you learned about Princess Diana in the past year to enhance your performance?

**R:** Okay, um, this is awkward for me, but I’m not going to talk about Harry. Prince Harry. Those are our personal issues and I’d rather not discuss them. I’ll answer questions about myself, but I’m not going to comment on Harry. I don’t speak for him. As far as the dancing goes, it’s always important to tap into your emotions. It’s like method acting. You have to act in ballet or else you’re not the Swan Princess, you’re just a girl in a tutu.

**A &L:** A lot has been written about your journey to the Royal Ballet Academy. What would you like to say about that? Don’t you want people to know the truth?

**R:** (Laughing.) Okay, I will make this one statement about my personal life. There’s sort of this really odd rumor that started circulating last year about how I somehow came to London to get Harry to go out with me. Which is just so far from being true. It’s ridiculous! I came to London because I got offers from other countries where I don’t speak the language, and I didn’t want to stay in the states because that seemed boring. So it’s really weird for me to hear that I came here as part of this huge plan to nab a prince. Even if that was the case, obviously it didn’t work out so I don’t even understand the rumor, to be honest.

**A &L:** Yes, that doesn’t seem very likely.

**R:** Thank you!

**A &L:** Now that you’re not dating a royal, how has your life at the Academy changed? The press isn’t hounding you anymore; that must be nice.

**R:** It’s an absolute relief to walk out of my own door and not be harassed. Although …now that I think about it, that does still happen. But I mean, way less than it used to. During my first year I stayed in my dorm a lot, because there were days when the press were just camped outside the gates of the school. And of course there was the whole Foxy Roxy thing.

**(In the fall of 2010 the tabloids got their hands on Roxy dressed in nothing but her bra and underwear. After that she was labeled Foxy Roxy in the press, side by side with Waitey Katie.)**

**R:** You know, I’d also like to clear that up. I was back stage, changing for performances. I wasn’t just hanging around taking pictures of myself in my underwear.

**A &L:** Kate Middleton’s family filed several complaints against the press when they felt they were being intrusive. How come you never did?

**R:** As far as I was concerned, the pictures had already been printed. Closer also ran an article in France about my dad. **(Roxy’s dad, Santiago DeLaSearle, has not been present in Roxy’s life since she was ten years old. The French press printed a story about him in 2011.)** That sucked to read. But my feeling again was that if I filed against the PCC [Press Complaints Commission], it wouldn’t un-print the story. Now it’s different, because the press has printed some pictures of my boyfriend and I, and I really don’t want them saying bad things about him, or about my friends.

**A &L:** You mean your classmate, Lady Bianca Winchester?

**(Roxy’s friend and flatmate, aristocrat Lady Bianca Winchester, has been rumored to have an eating disorder.)**

**R:** Yeah. Bianca is like a sister to me, and I feel guilty when she ends up in the press on a slow news day. I mean, I know there’s nothing interesting going on with Harry and I anymore, and Harry can’t choose whether he’s in the press or not, but my friends didn’t sign up for this.

**A &L:** Bianca will also be performing with you in the concert this summer. Do you ever feel like you two are in competition?

**R:** Absolutely not. I love her to death. When she gets something or I get something, we’re so happy for each other. It’s like I got the part myself, when she gets a part. Our first year we both were in contention to fill in for some of the corps in Cinderella and we found out that I got in first and we just jumped up and down and hugged each other. She was so happy for me. That’s just the way our friendship is.

**A &L:** You’ve maintained close friendships with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. Does it make you nervous to know that some of your closest friends will be watching you that day?

**R:** Yes! I was so adamant about keeping them out of the Opera House. I let them come watch me in one performance ever so when I got the part I immediately was like, “Damn! Now Will and Kate are gonna see me dance again!” But it’s my favorite dance, ever. I’ve known the choreography since I was in the fifth grade. If I were going to let them watch me dance anything, it would be this piece.

**A &L:** You sound confident, and very excited.

**R:** This is the hugest honor on the face of the Earth. I know Princess Diana always loved ballet and to perform this piece for her, for her friends, for her family, it’s just an absolute dream.

***

The article was published in April, three months before the concert. The cover of the issue was a picture of me, Elton John (who I’d met at Will and Kate’s wedding), Cheryl Cole, and some other performers that I didn’t really know. I didn’t even know what day it was coming out, and I would have kept on not knowing, except that Bianca tossed it down on the kitchen table. “That’s a good shot of you.” I was in the pink tutu I’d be wearing for the concert.

“Um, thanks,” I replied. Something about Bianca’s tone told me that she didn’t actually mean that as a compliment. I flipped through the magazine and watched out of the corner of my eye as she started boiling water. I continued to watch, like a hawk eyeing its prey, as she reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a lemon, and started slicing it. When the teakettle whistled, she stuck two slices of lemon in her hot water. “Bianca, come on.” I didn’t even think about the words before they were out of my mouth. Well, I guess we were going to have this conversation now. 

She blinked at me. “What?”

“You’re not even going to use a tea bag?”

“Lemon water is good for you. It flushes out your system.”

“You don’t have anything to flush out!” I gestured wildly to her skeletal frame before pointing out, “The last time I saw you eat something was in March!” And then my heart dropped. Because Bianca’s reaction to this statement wasn't to deny this, to argue with me about it, or even to get angry with me at all. Bianca's reaction was to grin. The corners of her mouth stretched upward, but her blue eyes didn’t smile with it. They just looked milky, and empty. Slowly, I muttered, “I didn’t mean that as a compliment.” 

Bianca’s smile faltered and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not one of your lost causes, Roxy.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” It was a question I’d been asking Bianca far too much lately.

“I’m not Harry! You don’t have to save me!”

“This isn’t about Harry! This is about you, and the fact that there’s clearly something wrong!”

“And how would you know anything about that?” Bianca asked. I was about to answer her, but she kept going. “We never see each other anymore! You’re always fucking Ruairi to drown out the fact that you’re still _clearly_ in love with Harry. Newsflash: _Everyone knows_! It’s pathetic, really.”

“Stop making this about Harry! I told you – this is about you.”

“Oh, _please_! You don’t know anything about me!”

“What are you talking about? Bianca, listen to yourself, you sound out of your fucking mind! I’m your best friend! I know _everything_ about you!”

“Oh, really? Is that why you knew me for a year and a half before you told me to stop being dramatic about Paul? Do best friends become so self-absorbed that they don’t even realize that their best friends were fucking raped by their step-dads when they were _nine-years-old_? Do best friends fucking _disappear_ when their best friends tell them their deepest, most horrible secret?”

“Look, Bianca, I’m sorry if it seems like I disappeared. I didn’t mean to – “

“Yeah, Roxy, you didn’t mean to, because you weren’t thinking about me at all. I don’t know why I’m surprised, you only ever think about yourself.”

“That’s not true!” I shouted, horrified as tears spilled over my eyelids.

“Oh, stop it, Roxanna. You know you’re ugly when you cry.” She tossed a tea towel at me, threw her mug in the sink, and left the room. The ceramic mug broke into a thousand tiny pieces. When I tried to pick them up, they cut tiny slashes in my hands, literally adding injury to insult.


	70. Thintervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

To say that things were awkward in the house would be an understatement. It wasn’t that bad since Bianca and I hadn’t been seeing much of each other lately, anyway, but just the thought of going to class made me feel sick. The other girls noticed, and it seemed like a chill fell over the entire room as Bianca switched places with another girl on the barre the day after our argument. Even Madam blinked. 

The silver lining of this cloud, however, was that this time around I knew exactly what I had to do. There was no more time for stalling. Just as Pippa had predicted, I’d hoped that things would get better and buried my head in the sand for too long. My entire body ached with the guilt, and I felt incredibly stupid for having made the same mistake twice. This time, because I knew what I had to do, I also knew that I couldn’t do it all by myself.

The next rehearsal that Harry came to sit in on, I snuck after he and Paolo during a break. While we took five to chug water and wipe off sweat, Harry went outside of the stadium for a smoke. The actual concert was going to be at Wembley Stadium, so we’d started having rehearsals there to get familiar with the space. “Psst! Paolo!” I hissed to Harry’s RPO, going out the side door that was for exclusive use by dancers and employees (and, apparently, princes). He turned around and motioned for Harry to stop. Knowing that I shouldn’t be running around outside in my pointe shoes, I tried to jog over to Harry and Paolo as gently as possible. “Hey. Thanks.” Looking around to make sure we were alone, I blurted out, “Harry, I have to talk to you.” He looked unsure about this idea, no doubt remembering that one of the last discussions we’d had that had ended in an extremely inappropriate embrace, so I added, “It’s about Bianca.”

Like he’d done before, Harry signaled to Paolo that he could walk away, which he did. Harry shuttled me closer in to the wall of the stadium. “What’s up?” he asked, his blue eyes searching mine. The creases in his forehead showed his genuine concern.

“Well…haven’t you noticed that something seems… _off_ lately?” I asked him, trying to hint at the problem without actually saying it. 

Harry looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I was concerned about her. What’s going on?”

I sighed. “I think she’s…” Blowing out a breath, I knew that I was just going to have to make the statement. Out loud. To someone else. But if I had to, if I absolutely _had to_ say it, I wanted Harry to be the person who heard me. “I think she’s anorexic.”

Harry swore under his breath. “I was thinking the same thing. She’s been too thin lately, and she looks exhausted all the time.”

“I know, and she doesn’t eat. Ever. You know how we used to be, cooking together all the time. We haven’t done it since before…” I stopped. I was going to say since before Harry had almost overdosed. “Since before last summer.” 

Harry rubbed his forehead and shook his head. “How bad do you think it is?” he asked.

“I think it’s bad enough to talk to you about it right now,” I pointed out. After all, it wasn’t like Harry and I had been enjoying such a great relationship lately. “Harry, I’m scared. Her elbows look like icicles.”

“Do you think we should do an intervention?” he asked.

I blinked and looked up at him. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, unwaveringly sure. 

My heart swelled. He was better. He was so much better than the last time I’d seen him, _really_ seen him. He had color in his cheeks. That steely glint in his eyes had been replaced. Now they looked like ocean water, the same way they’d looked all of those mornings when we’d woken up and smiled at each other. His lips were back to their full, rosy color, and I remembered the way they used to be so warm against my own. He was better. _He came back to you._

_Whoa, what?_

I shook the crazy thought out of my head before stammering out, “Uh…yeah, intervention.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “I’ll talk to Dr. R and see when we should do this.”

“Okay. Um…thanks.” 

I had turned around and was walking away when Harry called out, “Roxy.” I’d hardly turned all the way back to face him when I felt him wrap his arms around me. It was just as sudden as the hug I’d given him in his bedroom, only this time it was my heart that was pounding fast against my chest. My body started to shake.

How many more of these would I have to go through? Was life supposed to be this hard? Was your ex-boyfriend supposed to overdose, your best friend admit childhood abuse, your new boyfriend be accused of being a terrorist, and your best friend suffer a life-threatening eating disorder, all in less than twelve months? I was crying onto Harry’s shirt, leaving dark spots in the soft blue fabric. “I’m so scared,” I admitted quietly, my voice muffled in Harry’s chest. It made me remember Kate’s confession of the same feeling right before I left KP. 

I felt the soft, familiar feeling of his kiss on the top of my head. “It’ll be okay, Fox. We’ll work this out together.”

Suddenly, I blinked and looked up at him. This was…this was not okay. I shouldn’t be crying on his shoulder right now. I shouldn’t be letting him hold me, letting him call me by a nickname he’d used for me when we’d been “incredibly happy,” as he put it. Clearing my throat, I wiped my tears from my face. “Yeah. Thanks,” I said, and hurried back onto stage for practice.

*** 

It took over a week for me, Harry, and Dr. R to organize the intervention. We had to fit it into everyone’s schedules, and it wasn’t easy, but all of us saw how important this was. Remembering back to the odd look the doctor had given Harry when he met Bianca, I wasn’t surprised when Harry and Kate admitted that they’d talked to him about her before, letting him know that they were worried about her. Last summer, on my birthday, I’d thought that maybe all of the strife and grief I’d gone through dealing with Harry’s mess had been worth it, because I’d gotten such amazing friends out of the whole deal. When Harry and Kate told me they had already mentioned Bianca’s disorder to the doctor, I felt that same way. No matter what happened next, I wasn’t going through it alone.

So, on a Friday, Harry, Pippa, Will and Kate all came over and I lit some of those lavender scented candles, like the ones Harry had in his bedroom. Harry sat on the couch, pensive and looking up every once in a while. “Why are you lighting candles?” he asked.

“We always light candles. Plus, I want the room to have ambiance,” I explained.

Harry stood up in my path as I went to light candles on the mantle piece. “Roxy, stop.” I tried not to think about how tall he was, and how broad his chest was, and how great it would be to lean myself against his hard, strong body, to lean my cheek against his soft grey sweater. Apparently feeling my thoughts on some level, Harry reached out and gently squeezed my shoulders. “If we speak to Bianca, and she still chooses not to seek help, then you cannot continue to have a relationship of enabling with her. You may have to move out.”

“I know. This ain’t my first rodeo,” I reminded him. Ironically enough, it was the exact same expression Harry had used when we’d met almost two years ago.

He took the hit. “Do you have a plan if you have to move out?”

I didn’t. For some reason, I hadn’t told Ruairi about this venture. I’d been really busy with dancing lately, and on those few occasions I did see him, I just didn’t feel right telling him all about this. It was Bianca’s personal, private, business, and I didn’t want to spill her business to someone who didn’t know her the way that I knew her, the way that everyone in this room knew her. 

While I understood that what Harry was saying was true, I hadn’t thought of an alternative living situation thus far. I could get a dorm back at school, but it would take until the end of this term so there’d be a weird in between time. Before I could tell Harry that I had no plan, he spoke up. “There’s always room at Kensington, of course.”

With a gulp, I looked to Kate and William to help me. William looked away and Kate held her hands up, waving them in front of her behind Harry’s back. She wasn’t getting involved in this. I took in a shaky breath as my heart pulled. The truth, hard as it was to admit to myself, was that I wanted to be woken up at eight in the morning by Kate telling me she’d made French toast. I wanted the four of us – Will and Kate, Harry and I – to discuss our week over Sunday dinner, for Will to listen to the problems I was having at school, because he had a way of being so thoughtful. I wanted to laugh with the Middleton sisters and B again while we drank too much wine and listened to bad 90s pop music. Most of all, I wanted to snuggle up next to Harry that night and, regardless of what happened at the intervention, he’d let me cuddle across his chest, and he’d kiss my temple and tell me it’d all be okay.

I mean, I’d worked for it, hadn’t I? _I_ was the one who’d stood with him, patted his back as he vomited over the side of the bed, held him up when he was falling over, strung out. _I_ had, literally, picked him up off the bathroom floor and revived him. And now he was all shiny and new (or not so shiny and new, just back to the normal Harry that I’d loved in the first place) and I didn’t even get to reap the benefits? For a fleeting second I hoped that Bianca would reject our help…and then I stopped being a completely ridiculous brat.

I was about to tell Harry that I’d think about his offer when Bianca walked in. She blinked, seeing the candles, and then looking around the room at everyone. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know we were having company tonight,” she glared at me, assuming that I’d left her out of our plans and getting pissed about it.

Harry took the lead, which was a surprising role for him. I knew he liked the Army because he got a chance to be anonymous, but also because it gave him the opportunity to separate himself from William. Will usually took the lead in these situations, but this time, Harry was the expert at this. “Actually, we came to talk to you, Bianca,” he explained. 

Bianca gave him a strange look as she unwrapped her scarf and took off her coat. It was April, not scarf-and-coat weather, but B had been complaining of being cold all the time lately. This wasn’t incredibly surprising, since she had no padding between her skin and bones. She was dressed in a leotard and tights and leg warmers, clearly just having come from the studio. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you sit?” Harry offered.

“Okay,” Bianca said, slowly obeying Harry’s request and taking a seat in the only empty armchair in the room. I sat on the couch next to her, across from where Will, Kate, and Pippa were all seated on the other one. I tried to get her to look at me so that I could give her an encouraging smile, but when she saw me, she just gave me a questioning look back.

Harry sat on the couch next to me and gestured to where Dr. R was standing near the television. “Bianca, you remember my friend, Dr. Rosenblum.”

“Uh…yeah,” she slowly confirmed. 

“Hello again Bianca. We met briefly at Kensington,” he reminded her with a friendly smile. “I’m the doctor who’s helping Harry with his recovery.”

“Okay,” Bianca said with a smile so fake it could have been painted on. She looked from Dr. R around the room at all of her friends and it only took seconds for her to put the pieces together. “Well, I don’t need to recover from anything,” she lied to all of us.

Dr. Rosenblum spoke up, the way he’d said he would when Bianca denied that she had a problem. “I know that you and I don’t really know each other, Bianca, but I know most of the people in this room quite well, and they’ve been telling me some very concerning things.”

“Oh have they,” Bianca glared at all of us.

“Yes, they have. They’ve been telling me that your eating patterns have gotten strict and abnormal, when you do eat, which they say is rare. At practices, they’ve said that it’s hard to get you to pay attention and keep up with the other girls.” Dr. Rosenblum paused. “I’ve asked all of your friends here to write down their feelings about how you’ve been behaving lately. Roxanna, would you like to go first?”

_No_ , I thought. There were four other people in the room, couldn’t one of them go first? _Dammit…_ My hands shook as I unfolded the letter. I’d never gotten to do this part with Harry, it had all happened too fast, like lightening. “Bianca, you have been by my side since the second I flew into Heathrow airport. We’ve supported each other through Madam’s meanest days. You introduced me to Harry, and you listened to me cry when I came home after his…” The words got stuck in my throat and I coughed out, “Overdose. I know that you’re going through something now and I want to be there for you. You have a problem, Bianca. It’s making it hard to live with you. You’re angry and tired all of the time. You forget things. I can’t rely on you the way I used to. I love you so much and I want you by my side at the concert, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to be there.” My voice caught in a sob. Harry gave my knee a comforting pat. Across from me, Pippa reached for a tissue out of the box, handed it to Kate, and then got one for herself. William wrapped an arm around his wife, and I caught his eye. I knew we were both thinking that we’d been at far too many of these things in far too short a time.

“So you can see, Bianca, how your eating disorder is affecting your friendships,” Dr. Rosenblum pointed out. “Pippa, would you like to read your letter?”

Before Pippa had even unfolded her piece of paper, Bianca put a hand up to silence us. “No.”

We all blinked at her confused. “No, what?” Dr. Rosenblum asked slowly.

“No, I’m not hearing any more of this bullshit,” Bianca said, getting up. Harry and William got up too; ready to block her if she tried to leave, just the way the doctor had told them to do. At the time I’d thought, _Bianca would never try to run out_ , but apparently, I had been wrong.

“So you don’t think your friends care about you?” Dr. Rosenblum asked, trying to keep things calm.

“These _people_ are not my friends,” she pointed at the accused – the people who had been our closest friends for the past two years.

“Well, they all contacted me, concerned about you. They’ve set up this meeting to help you. Doesn’t that make you think they care?” Dr. Rosenblum pointed out.

“The only reason they care,” Bianca started, and I had to wince. It looked like it was hard for her just to take a deep breath. “Is because they’ll feel guilty if I keel over and die.”

“So you’re admitting that your behavior has gotten to a dangerous level,” Dr. Rosenblum asserted.

Bianca shook her head, frustrated. “What? No, that’s not what I’m…” Her voice trailed off. She took a few deep, rattling breaths before starting over. “Look. There is nothing wrong here. I’ve been working more at the studio and dieting. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, I think a scale would disagree. If you’re unhealthy, which you look like you are, then there’s a reason for their concern,” Dr. Rosenblum pointed out.

“So I’ll eat a donut after the concert,” she shrugged. “Who cares?”

“We won’t let you in the show.”

William hadn’t said anything since Bianca had come home. For once, he’d been fine sitting back, letting Harry take the lead. Now, we all looked to him and waited for him to explain. “We know that the school has rules. If we make them enforce the rules on you, they’ll listen, Bianca. You won’t be in the show, and you’ll be kicked out of school.”

Before anyone could shield themselves, Bianca had picked up one of the candles that Harry had stopped me from lighting and chucked it across the room. The glass around it shattered, and the wax thunked to the floor. Kate winced, Pippa gasped, but Harry and William remained calm. The stoic looks on their faces reminded me of the two young boys who had somberly trailed their mother’s coffin to Westminster Abbey. I wanted to pinch myself and wake up from this harrowing nightmare. I just wanted it all to stop, for the world to slow down for a second.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Bianca’s voice was a shrill shriek that sounded like a fork scraping against china. 

“I’m the one in charge of this show, with Harry,” William reminded her.

He’d made it possible for Bianca to attack an easier target. “So some fucking drug addict junkie is going to come in here and tell me how to run my life?” she shrieked. 

I hardly believed what was happening in front of me. I was sure that I had to be watching a play. A clever lookalike had done a speedy costume change and was playing the part of Bianca, but she was getting it all wrong. She was playing Bianca as some evil, thin, erratic monster. For the first time since I’d felt it with Harry, I felt that odd sort of scared. The kind of scared that should have had a more important word, but didn’t. “Bianca, look at yourself,” I begged her.

Dr. Rosenblum held me back. “Unfortunately at this point we must end the intervention. Bianca has become violent and unresponsive. I think she’s made her feelings known as to how she wants to handle things going forward. Bianca, you understand that if you choose not to seek help, Harry and William _will_ have you taken out of the show and school.”

“How could you do this to me?” Bianca shouted at them, even though they were only two feet away from her, and even though no one else in the room was shouting.

“We’re doing it _for_ you, Bianca,” William tried to explain. 

Harry added, “I’m sorry, but you’re our friend and we care about you.”

“Oh, really? Is that why this is the first time I’ve seen you in fucking months? Because we’re such good _bloody_ friends? Is that why you never called me once after you and Roxy broke up? Is that why you didn’t call me after the overdose, when Roxy came home, just so we’d know you were _alive_? This has _nothing_ to do with friendships! You just wanted to stop feeling like a fuck up so you found another fuck up to make you feel better about yourself!” Bianca was crying but I wasn’t sure she knew. Her words were spitting out of her mouth. She looked like the subject of an exorcism movie.

Without warning, Kate jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around Bianca. It looked half like a hug and half like a death grip. Kate was thin herself, but she was freakishly strong. “Bianca, we love you. Please try to listen to us.”

Bianca pushed her away, giving her a look like she’d just told her she wanted her to jump off a bridge. _Poor Kate_ , I thought. She was always the one taking the physical abuse in these situations. Last summer, Harry had lunged at her, aiming for the jugular while shouting out for his mother. 

Quietly, Harry attempted, “I’m sorry that I neglected our friendship. I hope you can forgive me, and let us help you.” 

Bianca was taking sharp, shallow breaths. She looked around the room at all of us before her eyes finally landed on me, and then she made her decision. “Leave me alone,” she said, before going upstairs. Seconds later, her door slammed.

Pippa burst into tears and her older sister tried to comfort her. William swore under his breath. “Roxy, are you all right?” Harry asked gently.

I nodded, wiping underneath my eyes. “I was hoping that I’d only have to do this once.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “She’ll be okay. She just needs time.”

“I hope you’re right,” I muttered.

“Doctor, I said that Roxy could stay at KP so she doesn’t continue to be an enabler as a roommate to Bianca. Do you think that would be all right?”

“Yes,” the doctor concluded slowly. “As long as we all stay very clear on lines that can’t be crossed.”

He meant no sneaking across the hall to Harry’s room in the middle of the night, which was just as well because that was the farthest thing from my mind. I just wanted to go back to KP with all of my friends, to cry with Kate and Pippa while William and Harry tried to be strong enough to support us. I wanted to lean on Harry, the way I couldn’t seem to let myself lean on Ruairi.

_Ruairi._

_Shit, Ruairi!_

I couldn’t be living at KP! What would Ruairi think? That I was still trying to be with Harry, no doubt. Was I? Was this a ridiculous thing to be thinking about right now? Harry opened his mouth, probably to ask me why I looked so glum, but the doctor stopped him from doing so by saying, “Well, Harry and I should get to a meeting.”

“Right,” William agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

The doctor and the Wales brothers gathered at the door, discussing where the meeting was in low voices. “He goes to the meetings?” I asked Kate and Pippa quietly.

Sniffling, Kate nodded. “He tries to sometimes.”

“Roxy, are you going to be all right? Do you want me to stay?” Pippa offered.

I loved her for offering. “Thanks. I really just want to take a bath and go to bed. We have practice all day tomorrow.”

Pippa wiped under her eyes with a nod. “Right. Give me a ring if you change your mind, okay?”

I promised her I would before hugging them all goodbye, thanking them for all their help. “That wasn’t an empty threat, you know,” William told me. “We will have to tell Madam and Monsieur about this.”

Letting out a breath, I told him I understood, and once they’d all left, I went up to my room. Pausing at the top of the stairs, I pressed my ear up to Bianca’s door. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t sleeping. I could hear the unmistakable sound of ballet flats on wood. She was practicing.


	71. The Ninth Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

On Saturday I woke up and rubbed my stinging eyes. _Was it a dream?_ I thought, right before remembering that it wasn’t. My best friend really _was_ slowly killing herself. And I really _did_ have no other choice than to watch her do it. With a giant heave, I got myself out of bed and headed to the stadium, but not before looking at my calendar. Just because God had sick, sick humor (or maybe He was just pissed at me for not believing in Him), on this already shitty day, we also had costume fittings. “Shit.”

I was no stranger to costume fittings. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what to expect. The wardrobe mistresses would wrap a yellow measuring tape around my thighs, my hips, my waist, and my bust. With every disappointingly large number, they would let out a disapproving “tsk.” It was the same process I’d been suffering through since I’d gone through puberty. As much as I could mentally prepare myself, I just really didn’t feel like getting “tsked” at the day after my best friend’s horrible intervention. I had fully given up on any hope that Bianca would break her silent treatment and talk to me. It was so bad that Susie Jordan even asked me if we were okay. Not knowing what to say, I’d lied to her and said we were fine. So, no, today was _not_ the day that I wanted the wardrobe mistress to be measuring my hips and shaking her head. I wanted to shout, “Yes, I have wide hips! I’m Spanish! I like bread! Oh, and by the way, thanks to you and all of your colleagues, my best friend is _killing herself_!” Instead, I kept my mouth shut and looked on stage where Bianca was practicing the pas de quatre with the other girls. Even next to three lithe women, she looked so frail and fragile. I hated that.

Biting my bottom lip, I looked around to where Harry and William were talking to Madam and Monsieur. The instructors had concerned looked on their faces and were nodding as the brothers spoke to them. Harry paused, his brow furrowed, and pointed to the stage. I looked up to where Bianca was dancing…until she wasn’t anymore. Almost faster than my vision could process it, her eyes had rolled back in her head and she’d fallen backwards, taking the two girls she was holding hands with, with her. They shrieked, being yanked to the floor, before getting up, understandably looking shocked.

“Bianca!” I gasped, hurling myself over rows of auditorium seats to get to my best friend. I shouldn’t have done it, it was dangerous and irresponsible. My legs and my feet were my entire career, my entire life, and jumping over row after row of seating didn’t seem like a great way to preserve them. But fuck my legs, fuck my feet, fuck my career - I needed to reach my best friend. I launched myself on stage and to her side. Girls crowded around me asking what was happening, was she okay. “Bianca,” I spoke to her, feeling her clammy skin, trying to make sure she had a pulse or was breathing. “Harry, help,” I begged, looking up.

He’d already called an ambulance, and the EMTs arrived on the scene and assured me that Bianca was, in fact, alive. They put her into an ambulance and, almost blindly, Harry led me out of the stadium. Sounding like it was coming from underwater, I heard him tell William to stay there and keep the practice going. He steered me into his blacked out car and told his driver to follow the ambulance before turning to me. “She’s going to be fine,” he assured me.

“What if she’s not?” I asked, nibbling on my nails. “What if she’s one of those vegetables and we have to pull the plug?”

Harry chuckled. “Always so dramatic. How could I forget?” he asked, mostly to himself. “She’ll be fine, Roxy. I promise. She’s probably just dehydrated.”

“This time,” I pointed out. Harry waited for me to explain. “I mean, so she’s fine this time. She’ll get out, and do it all over again. Until her organs start shutting down, and then…” I trailed off and choked back a sob.

Once again, as had been happening more and more often lately, Harry seemed to read my mind. Wrapping me up in his arms, he kissed the top of my head. “She’ll be okay, Fox. She’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” This time, when he called me by my nickname, I didn’t pull away. I just let him, and I let myself believe him.

*** 

Harry was right this time; Bianca was dehydrated. From her frail frame and the blood tests they ran on her, the doctors could tell that she was clearly suffering from an eating disorder. “Your friend needs help,” her attending doctor told me.

“Doctor, if you _know_ she’s in danger, can’t you force her to go somewhere?” I begged, grabbing Harry’s hand.

He squeezed my shoulder and I relaxed and fell back. Harry spoke up. “As you can see we’re all quite worried.”

The doctor nodded. “Certainly, Your Royal Highness, I understand.” Harry had tried to tell the doctor a dozen times that he could do away with the formalities, but the doctor was clearly from one of those families who raised him with strict, rigid rules. His parents had probably warned him never, ever to be too familiar with a royal, on pain of horrifying punishment. “Unfortunately, the only way we would be able to hold Bianca somewhere is if she was found to be mentally incompetent.”

“She’s doing _this_ ,” I gestured to the room where Bianca was still out cold on an I.V. drip. “Doesn’t that prove she’s insane?”

The doctor gave me a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, Miss DeLaSearle, your friend is perfectly sane, she’s just making an incredibly bad choice.” With that, and a small bow to Harry, he walked away.

Harry took my hand and led me into the room where Bianca was being treated. Her body looked totally emaciated, her wrists were the size of most people’s index fingers, her cheeks were gaunt and sunken. The purple half-moons under her eyes looked like she’d been beaten, but I knew she was just tried. Her skin was the same color as the crisp, white linens on the bed, which, small as it was, seemed to swallow her up. Her breath looked shallow, but I could hear the rattles from deep in her chest.

“Oh, B,” I sighed, flopping down in the chair next to her. How was this the same, bubbly, sharp as a tack girl that I’d moved in with two years ago? I took her hand and looked across the bed at Harry. “It feels like I just did the whole bedside thing,” I gave him a half-smile.

Harry nodded. “It does seem like you’ve had quite a tumultuous few months.” I was about to agree with him when he reached across Bianca’s bed and took both of my hands in his. “Roxanna,” he started, and I shivered. “I wanted to…I’ve _been_ wanting to tell you…Well, the ninth step is…making amends with everyone you’ve wronged when you were using. And I just wanted to ask…I’m not sure if you could ever forgive for what I’ve done, Roxanna. But you must believe me when I tell you how so very, _very_ sorry I am.”

“Oh, Harry,” I caved, placing my palm against his cheek. “Of course I can.” The truth was that I already had. I’d forgiven him the moment I’d run to him in his bedroom and thrown my arms around him. I’d forgiven him again when he’d hugged me back, and again when he’d tangled his fists in my hair. And mostly, I’d forgiven him when he’d agreed to plan the intervention, and when he’d taken the lead today and called an ambulance. I’d forgiven him as soon as Harry, the Harry I knew, had come back and was able to be forgiven.

He leaned into my palm, and when he looked at me, it was hard to breathe all of a sudden. “And…Roxanna, I wanted so much to tell you, the day you left…well I wanted to…to say…” It was on the tip of his tongue. My heart flew up to my throat.

“Rox?”

Jumping away from Harry, I looked down at Bianca. “B!” I exclaimed. “You’re awake!” Before I could even try to hold it in, I was crying.

“Hey stranger,” she gently greeted Harry.

“Glad to have you back, B,” Harry grinned at her. “Do you remember what happened?”

Bianca just shook her head and swallowed, which looked difficult and painful. Her lips were cracked and purple. I offered her some water out of a straw. She sipped it, which seemed like it took a lot of effort on her part, and then tried to put the pieces together. “I was rehearsing?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, encouragingly, “but you collapsed. The doctor says you were dehydrated.”

Before the last word was out of his mouth, Bianca shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands. I looked at Harry for a cue as to how to react. He just gave me a small nod, so I waited, just as he did. Eventually, Bianca took another deep, rattling breath before uncovering her face. She had the same expression that Harry’d had when Dr. R had asked if he wanted his help, and Harry had replied, “God, yes." Sounding somewhat shocked that the words were coming out of her mouth (no doubt because she’d been trying to hard to hold them in), Bianca finally confessed, “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Rox.”

“That’s all right,” I assured her, brushing some blonde hair off her forehead. “You’ll go somewhere, get help, be back at school in no time.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean all of it, the whole thing. Roxy, I _hate_ dancing.” She said it so desperately, and sounded so serious, and we were only talking about ballet. Bianca’s mouth curled up first. I let out a small giggle. Then she let it all out, and tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks. I assumed it was the stress all of us had been feeling lately, just bursting through, tickling our insides. After a minute, Bianca wiped her eyes and let out a small moan. “Oh, Rox. I’m so sorry for what I said. And you, too, Harry. And all the others… Christ.”

“It’s okay,” I assured her.

“Not at all,” Harry said, raising his hands. “And I’m sorry I haven’t been around a lot lately. It’s…a strange situation.” His eyes flicked to me and back to Bianca.

Bianca waved a hand in front of her face. “I know it is. I was just…not ready to hear what you were saying.”

We sat quietly for a moment, wondering what would happen next. The doctor broke the silence, stepping into the room. “Ah, you’re awake, Miss Winchester.”

“I am,” Bianca attempted a smile.

”I’m sure your friends Miss DeLaSearle and His Royal Highness have explained to you that you fainted from dehydration. It is clear from your appearance and blood work that you are struggling with anorexia nervosa.” I inched closer to Bianca protectively. The doctor’s voice wasn’t judgmental or anything; he was actually very calm and matter of fact. “Miss Winchester, I must inform you that if you don’t seek help for this disease, eventually it will be hard for you to stand, or sit, for long periods of time. Your joints will hurt, and you won’t have any padding to cover your bones, which will make simply existing painful. Your liver and kidneys will shut down, resulting in renal failure. Shortly after that, you will inevitably go into cardiac arrest, and die.”

I gasped, but Bianca gave me an assuring smile.

The doctor continued. “Miss DeLaSearle has asked me if, legally, the hospital would be able to commit you. As much as I think it would benefit you, I can’t do that. If you _should_ choose to seek help, and let me repeat that I strongly suggest that you do, we have information at the hospital for both in- and out-patient care.”

I waited on the edge of my seat, biting my lip, waiting for Bianca to reply. I silently thanked God (who I was starting to think just might be real) when she cleared her throat and answered, “That information would be a great help, thank you, Doctor.”

He smiled kindly at her, told her he’d be back with some pamphlets in a minute, and left the room. “Oh, B, I forgot to tell you. I called your mom.”

“Oh, great,” she rolled her eyes. “That’ll be a fun conversation.”

“Do you want me to stay?” I offered.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. You go home, get a good night’s sleep. You’ve got Sunday rehearsals starting tomorrow. Both of you.”

I obeyed and gave her a gentle hug, not wanting to hurt her. When Harry didn’t stand up with me, I asked, “Are you coming?”

He shook his head. “I actually want to talk to Bianca for a moment. You can take the car. Just ask him to come back here.”

“Okay,” I slowly replied. I told Bianca I’d come by after practice tomorrow and gathered my coat. I shut the door behind me and then looked back in the window. Harry had said something and the two of them were laughing. It reminded me of when I’d walk into the dorm in the middle of a tense Uno game and my heart pulled. Could you be nostalgic for a reality you’d been living only a year ago?

I made my way to the car and asked the driver to drop me off before coming back for Harry. He nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. I rooted around in my purse for my phone and when I pulled it out I saw that I had about three hundred missed calls, mostly from Ruairi and my mom, and three voicemails. The first was a passive-aggressive message from my mom, casually asking how my day was, and then telling me that she’d seen that Harry and I had gone to the hospital on the news. I swore under my breath. The second message was Ruairi, wishing me good luck on fitting day. With a guilty pang, I listened to the next message, which was him sounding slightly more panicked. “Roxy, I was just watching TV. They’re saying you, Bianca, and Harry were all rushed to the hospital? What’s going on? Call me back as _soon_ as you can.”

I chewed my bottom lip, thinking it over. I was exhausted, and not in the mood to rehash what had just happened. Not to mention that I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Ruairi that Harry and I had teamed up over Bianca’s illness, that I’d asked for Harry’s help instead of his. Rather than call him back, I figured that Ruairi could settle for a text. “I’m home, I’m fine. Not in hospital, B was sick. I’ll call you tomorrow. XO.” The XO was a little much, but I had to over-compensate for being with Harry all day…and spending far too much time with him in the last several days…and spending far too much of _that_ time having inappropriate thoughts about him and the v at his waist…

“It looks like you’ve got visitors, miss,” the driver spoke up as he pulled up to my stoop. With a groan, I looked out the window to see at least twenty paparazzi fifteen meters away from my front door. “Do you want me to circle the block?” he asked.

“No, there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable,” I muttered before thanking him and getting out of the car. The cameras were flashing and snapping loudly and the photographers behind them were all shouting at me, asking how I was feeling. I took a deep breath and held my head up, rummaging through my purse for my keys, avoiding looking directly at the cameras. When I shut the door behind me, I sighed. It was silent.


	72. You Need Me, I Don't Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

The next day, the dancers in the concert started Sunday practices. Madam and Monsieur had gotten a girl to fill in for Bianca, and out of loyalty to her, I personally thought she wasn’t as good of a dancer. “Are you okay?” Marcus asked. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I promised as we started practice. I filled him in at break, when we were alone, not wanting to run the risk of other girls overhearing. Not like it would have mattered – the news that a friend of Harry’s had collapsed was already on TV, in the tabloids, and on the internet. During the first couple of hours, all that anybody knew was that the three of us had gone to the hospital, which had led to the inevitable rumors that I was pregnant. 

“So when are you due?” Ruairi asked that afternoon when I called him on break. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shook my head. “Can you believe that?” Finally, I told him what had happened.

Ruairi was stunned, I could tell, even over the phone. “Well…at least she’s getting help now, right?”

“Yeah, definitely,” I nodded, although I still wasn’t fully able to look on the bright side. 

After practice (which Harry and Will had chosen not to come to that day, probably not wanting to deal with the drama that I was, apparently, with child) I headed back over to the hospital. Bianca still wasn’t looking her best, but I knew she was trying, and that was making a huge difference. Her room was full of flowers and balloons from friends and family members. Her mom had rushed over as soon as I’d called and was making trips for ice chips back and forth. Bianca’s stomach couldn’t handle much else at the moment, but she was getting all the nutrients she needed from her I.V. drip. Even Kate and Pippa were there, and they’d brought a new playlist: The Best for Bianca. It was mostly the Spice Girls, combined with some songs from Roxy’s Rockin’ Playlist, so naturally it was amazing. When I walked into the room, Kate was flipping through a fashion magazine, pointing out new hairstyles she wanted to try to Bianca and her mom. Pippa was holding one of Bianca’s hands in hers, painting her nails a frosty blue color. “Hey guys. There some sort of party going on in here?”

“Roxy, come here and tell me if you think I should get a fringe or not,” Kate instructed, pointing to a page in British _Vogue_. 

“Fringe?” I asked.

Bianca translated. “Bangs.”

“Oh.” Before I looked down at the page, Bianca’s mom greeted me with a hug. “Hi Mrs. Winchester.”

“Hello, darling. I appreciate all you’ve done for my girl,” she said honestly, before looking at the other girls. “All of you ladies. Truly.” 

“Anything for our B,” Pippa beamed at our friend.

Once we’d all decided on Kate’s fringe (it was a go) and Pippa was done Bianca’s manicure, Bianca asked if she could have some time alone with me. The Middleton sisters had to go anyway, and they gave us hugs goodbye before heading out of the room. With a careful look, Bianca’s mother asked, “Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, Mum.” Bianca’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well not…you know, in life, but I’m fine doing this.” Her mom leaned over, gave her a kiss on her forehead, and let her know she’d be just outside, waiting in the hallway. 

“So what’s up?” I asked once the door was closed.

Bianca was silent for a little while. When she finally did speak up, she had a guilty look on her face. “I was awake, you know.”

“When?” I asked, and for a split second I was horrified that she meant she’d heard Ruairi and I having sex through the walls one night.

“Yesterday. When Harry was apologizing for everything.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, amused, “You _were_?” When she nodded, I light-heartedly scolded her, “You sneaky little minx.” She laughed, which sounded more like a wheeze, but I was still glad to hear her the sound. “Why didn’t you say anything?”   
She shrugged. “I was curious.”

“Bianca!”

“Come on! That was some good stuff there!”

“Well, I’m glad we could entertain you during your stay at this hotel. Oh, I meant _hospital_.”

“Okay, but you _know_ I was right.”

“About us being entertaining?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, before. Remember, when I said you were Matthew, and Harry was Mary, and Ruairi was Lavinia?”

“Bianca, that is absurd,” I chuckled.

“Okay, fine, take _Downton_ out of it.” She reached out and took my hand. “Roxy, I’ve had a lot of time to think the past two days, and certain things have… become clear. One of those things is that if I am _ever_ lucky enough to have someone love me the way Harry loves you, I would work my absolute hardest to hold onto that.” 

A lump formed in my throat, not a slow build-up the way it usually happened. It seemed like it came from nowhere. What Bianca had just said reminded me of something Harry’s mother had said once. “If you find someone you love in life, you must hang onto it, and look after it, and if you’re lucky enough to find someone who loves you, then you must protect it.”

“You _know_ I’m right,” Bianca acknowledged my emotional reaction.

“It’s too late,” I admitted in a whisper. I would never have said it out loud to anyone else. I had to keep it buried, deep down where no one would ever know. “And it’s too…it’s too messed up.”

“What do you mean?” Bianca asked.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I mean it’s too fucked. After all he’s been through…I just can’t deal with all of that right now.”

Bianca blinked and shook her head. “Roxy…so, what, are you just going to stop being my friend because I have issues?”

“No, of course not!”

“Exactly! Because that’s what having relationships with people is, that’s what _loving_ people is. Sometimes they go through absolute shit times, and you have to go through those times with them, because you know at the end of the day, it’s all worth it.” She paused, taking deep breaths, and I could tell that just the effort she was putting in to try and get her point across was exhausting her.

“I’ll think about it,” I lied. I had no intention of thinking about it. I wanted it to go away. I wanted to be happy with my uncomplicated boyfriend. I wanted life to be normal again, because frankly I couldn't remember the last time it had been.

Bianca gave me a knowing look. “I _know_ you won’t.”

“I will! Promise!”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well I hope you do, because I’m being transferred tomorrow and I won’t be able to talk to anyone outside for 48 hours.”

“ _What_?” I shouted. In two years the only time Bianca and I hadn’t spoken every single day was during the eleven days I’d spent at KP after Harry’s overdose. “That _sucks_!”

Bianca laughed. “Yeah. Sorry this has all been so hard on _you_ , Rox.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t let it happen again,” I smirked at her, and my heart soared, even though I was just sitting there in an uncomfortable hospital chair. My best friend was coming back to me. It would be slow, and long, and difficult, but she would be back.

***

Over the next month, I spent more and more time at Wembley after rehearsals. The building would empty out and I would take full advantage, relishing the opportunity to dance alone, and uninterrupted. After being barred from talking to her for 48 hours, Bianca and I chatted over the phone every day. Her recovery sounded strangely similar to Harry’s – lots of therapy, and lots of classes about proper nutrition and exercise. Every day she sounded a little bit better, and it constantly made me cry out of happiness and overwhelming relief.

Things went back to normal for Ruairi and I. After the hospital trip, when it became clear that I wasn't suffering from morning sickness, the press backed off once again. We went out to pubs, made dinners at home, went out for brunch. It wasn’t mad, passionate love, but it was simple, uncomplicated, and stable, and that was something I needed in my life right now.

Before I knew it, it was the end of June. Bianca’s recovery program took three months, and since she’d joined at the end of April, it wouldn’t be until the end of July that she moved back in to the apartment. She was allowed visitors at this point, and I went as often as I could, sometimes with Kate and Pippa smuggled in the back seat of a blacked out car. The truth was that it was tough to do all of this without her by my side. The closer it got to the concert, the more I found myself wishing that she was with me. I hadn’t performed without her since I’d been in London. Oh well; I’d much rather her be recovering.  
The week before the concert, I was trying to log in as much practice as I could, staying later than the other girls so that I could have the stage all to myself. On the Wednesday night before the show, after making sure not even the staff of the stadium was still there, I took a deep breath and walked out from the drafty wings, stepping onto the stage. I walked over the X that marked center stage and took a deep breath. The place was huge. It seemed bigger somehow, and I figured that was only because it was empty. It felt like someone was watching me, but I’d done several thorough checks and knew the place was empty. Besides, I knew, rationally, that the stadium was taking every measure to make sure that everyone who wasn’t authorized was kept out of there, so as not to give away any part of the show. The thought of some phantom of the stadium spying on me, ridiculous though I knew it was, started to creep me out, and I decided to start dancing before I got even more freaked at the idea of a full house. 

_And…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…_

It was the same slow count I’d head in my head since I was three years old, sitting in the back of the auditorium, watching the most beautiful woman in the world wearing the most beautiful tutu with the sparkliest tiara on her head doing the most elegant dance. As I danced, my ballet career played like a movie. I remembered sitting on my bed while my dad pulled on my pink tights for my first day of dance classes. I remembered the scent of hairspray and clean laundry – the distinct smell of a dance store – while George and I struggled to find my first, perfect pair of pointe shoes. I remembered standing in front of the mirror in my tiny bedroom, running my fingers over the pink sequins on the bodice of the Sugar Plum Fairy costume I had _finally_ gotten to wear when I was sixteen. I remembered pinning the numbers to my leotard before my audition for the RBA. I remembered walking into the house after I’d been accepted, my mom sitting at the table and, seeming as fragile as china, turning to me and asking, “Well? How did it go?” I remembered moving in, and how Bianca had immediately laughed that I was American and promised my mother that she'd take me under her wing. I remembered her urging me to go out on the day William and Kate had announced their engagement, and I remembered spilling red cranberry juice all over Harry’s crisp white button-down. I remembered him, Will, and Kate whistling from the Royal Box as I took the curtain call in _The Nutcracker_. I remembered twirling around with him to _Tiny Dancer_ in one of those huge, hardwood floored rooms of KP.

The song ended and I posed, waiting in the position I’d be in when the whole stadium applauded (hopefully) for me this weekend. My chest rose and fell. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been dancing until now. I let my arms down before collecting my water bottle and sweat rag from the back of the stage. When I turned back around I caught an unmistakable flash of red in the wings. “Oh. Hey. I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

Harry stepped out of the wings towards me. “Will and I popped in to meet with the sound technicians,” he explained.

The only reply I had was a nod as I chugged my water and patted off my sweat.

“Nervous?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.

“Not really,” I answered. “Not yet.” Another awkward pause. “Have you talked to Bianca?”

“Yes, yes I have. I think she’s doing quite well,” he told me. I vaguely agreed. Harry looked down, scratched an itch above his eyebrow. “Look, Roxy, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something…” He paused, like he was waiting for me to stop him. For reasons I didn't understand, because I didn't actually know what he was about to say (even though I had a pretty strong hunch) I really wanted to, but it was like watching a car crash, and I couldn’t say anything, even though something bad was about to happen. Harry took my silence as permission to continue. “The day you left KP – “

Finally, my voice rushed out of my throat. “Harry, don’t worry about it. That’s all in the past now.”

“Well I’d say that we’ve reached an awkward point in time at which the past is in the present. And I’m afraid it will continue to be in the future if we don’t talk about it now.” Why was he talking like a character in a Jane Austen novel? Why did I care? I opened my mouth to protest further but Harry wouldn’t let me. “Roxanna, when you came to tell me you were leaving KP, I was relieved.” Well…that wasn’t what I’d expected. “Not because I wanted you to go. But because I knew… Roxy, I knew that you deserved so much more than I could give you at the moment. So I didn’t tell you what I was thinking, or what I was feeling. Which is that I loved you. I’ve always loved you. There’s…there’s no one else for me, Fox.”

The nickname was the straw that broke my back. “Well that’s not what _Hello!_ said.”  
“Since when do you read _Hello!_?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

I thought bitterly about the articles alleging that he had moved on to Cressida. “Since you became very un-shy about your new girlfriend, Cressida Bonas.”

“That’s not true, Roxy, and you know it. Besides, you can’t seriously be mad at me about getting a new girlfriend. You broke up with me! That’s what happens when people break up – they go out with someone else.”

“So she _is_ your girlfriend!”

“No! I was just saying if she was…and I don’t even see why this matters! You’re the one with the boyfriend.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I am! So why are you even telling me this?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I just thought that if I was honest –“

“If you were honest, _what_? If you were honest _now_ about something that happened almost a _year_ ago, what? Everything would be perfect and we’d run into each other’s arms and live happily ever after or something?” I was practically spitting venom. “That I would just forget that I told you I loved you, like an ass hole, and you sent me away?”

“I didn’t ‘send you away,’” Harry reminded me. “Dr. Rosenblum was the one who told you to go home. I’ve just said that the reason I didn’t say anything back was – “

Not wanting to let him finish, I interrupted him before he could make a point. “I’m seeing somebody now, Harry. You _know_ that.”

Harry gave me a small nod and in a small voice answered, “I do.”

“Then what the hell do you think you’re doing? Now that I’m finally happy, you pick now to come back in and fuck it all up? I’m sorry Harry, but I’ve moved on. And Ruairi…Ruairi is so…so _normal_. He’s just uncomplicated. And I don’t know if you know this, but I’m in a very stressful place in life right now. There’s just not space for both of us in a relationship.” It was true – there wasn’t room for my issues and Harry’s issues in one relationship, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered Harry’s mother telling Martin Bashir, “There were three of us, in the marriage, so it was a bit crowded.” With a sigh and thinking that this kind of slip-up was exactly what I wanted to avoid, I explained, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Harry assured me quietly.

“I mean…you apologize to me a year later and that’s supposed to just fix everything? Come on Harry, that’s not how real life works.” I gathered my things and swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s just…too much. I’m sorry.” And I left.

***

I was, unsurprisingly, moping around my apartment that night after practice. Eventually I would want to seek advice about what had just happened from my girlfriends, but for now I just wanted to sit on my couch in sweatpants and watch my _Sex and the City_ DVDs. 

Carrie and Aiden were breaking up (for the second time) when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I didn’t want to see anyone, so I considered ignoring it. I still hadn’t made up my mind when the person waiting rang again. “Hold on a minute,” I called, hoping they could hear the groan in my voice and know that I was doing this reluctantly.

When I swung open the door, my jaw dropped. Even under a fedora, a scarf, and sunglasses (despite the fact that it was dark outside), I could recognize Cressida Bonas. She looked around her, down both sides of the street. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you should let me in now, before somebody sees.”

At a total loss as to what my other options were, I opened my door wider and let Cressida into my apartment. When she was safely inside, she took off her hat, sunglasses, and scarf, letting loose her mane of gold hair. She looked like Rapunzel. No, she looked like Rapunzel that a sorority girl would have gone as for Halloween – slutty Rapunzel or naughty Rapunzel. _God damn it._ Why couldn’t Harry have just rebounded with some ugly girl? I was bitterly resenting Cressida Bonas for being so attractive when she smiled at me. “Thanks for that. Sorry, I know this must be awkward for you.”

“Uh, yeah. A little bit. How did you know where I lived?”

“Harry told me.”

“Oh he did, did he?” I muttered.

Cressida’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, not like that. We’re not…we were never like _that_. I haven’t spoken to him in months. Not before tonight, anyway.” She could tell I didn’t believe her. “Honestly,” she urged. “We haven’t been photographed together since November. He’s leaked some old pictures to the press so they’d stop bothering that friend of yours, the one who’s been so ill lately.”

“Bianca.”

“Right, Bianca Winchester.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I slowly asked, “Why would he do that?”

Cressida shrugged and offered me a kind smile, which I hated. Why was she being so nice? It was making it really hard to keep irrationally hating her. “Because he cares about her. Almost as much as he cares about you. Because he does care about you, Roxy, you have to know that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah.”

“He only called me today because he wanted me to go out and do something to prove, publicly, that we weren’t together. He said you two talked and you brought it up, and he thought you were upset about it.” So Harry had called Cressida after our fight this evening? And that was supposed to make me feel _better_? Cressida continued her explanation. “We _did_ go on a date or two, back in the fall, but nothing ever came of it. He was clearly just trying to get over the person he really loved, and I’m not interested in being anybody’s second choice.”

“Maybe you weren’t,” I suggested the hypothesis that I dreaded.

Cressida scoffed. “Roxy, I’ve never been one of those women who goes after men who aren’t interested in her. I’ve got far too much self-respect for that. And believe me, Harry was _not_ interested.” I wasn’t sure how Cressida could ever really know this. What were the chances that she knew what it was like when a man wasn’t interested? It had probably never happened to her in her life. “Honestly, every time we’d go out he’d end up talking about something we were doing that reminded him of you. _Huge_ turn off,” she noted with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, I’m still not sure why you’re here,” I admitted, not meaning to sound as bitchy as I did…Okay, maybe I meant it a little.

Finally, Cressida sighed. “Because I know what it’s like to break up with someone and to see they’ve moved on to someone new. It really hurts.”

“But you’re saying Harry didn’t move on to anyone new.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I know. I’m here because you have. Harry must be _really_ upset.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ignoring me, Cressida continued. “And this whole time he’s been in love with you, only you thought he was with someone else, so then you went out with someone else, and it turns out he was never over you in the first place. Sort of like a romantic comedy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure this is all very romantic to you,” I rolled my eyes at her.

“Romantic to _me_? I’m the girl who gets chucked for the girl he actually loves. How’s that for romance?” This whole thing was so bizarre – her showing up here, her weird behavior, her apparent bid to push me back towards Harry. I was shocked into silence. Before I could think of anything to say, Cressida was gathering her things. “Well, I should go. I just wanted to tell you that there was nothing between us, and there never was, and I think you’re making a huge mistake if you don’t give him a second shot. You two are like Noah and Allie or Ross and Rachel or…you know, someone and someone else who are supposed to go together.”

“Um…yeah. Thanks, I guess.” I was still confused when Cressida shut the door behind her.


	73. I Never Know If I'm Doing You Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Reminder" by Mumford & Sons
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“B, I miss you,” I whined on the phone the next night. She was only allowed a certain amount of phone time per day and I wasn't adjusting very well from living with her to this.

“I miss you, too, Rox. But I’ll be out soon. Anyway, enough about my recovery. Tell me some mindless gossip.” We’d spent most of the time Bianca was allotted going over the work she was doing at the center. 

I chewed on my lip, wondering whether I should tell Bianca about what had happened the previous night. The line wasn’t secure, but ethically anyone listening in could tell only tell if we were talking about Bianca hurting herself or someone else, so if information was leaked, it would be easily traceable. “Well…I talked to Harry last night.”

“Hm…why don’t you sound happy about that?” she asked.

“Well! Because! The idiot chooses _now_ to tell me he loves me. Like…like it’s just okay to say it. Can you believe that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Bianca slowly answered, “Yes?”

I could practically see the guilty look on her face. “B! What did he tell you?”

“Remember when you left hospital, and he stayed behind?” I told her I did. “Well he wanted to talk to me about recovery and everything, but then he wanted to ask me about you, and seeing about getting back together, and…well, I sort of told him to go for it.”

“You did _what_?”

“Oh Roxy, come off it. You know you’re crazy about each other.”

“Um…hello. Remember Ruairi? My boyfriend?” I reminded her.

“Booooo-ring,” Bianca moaned loudly.

Even I had to laugh. “Bianca! He is not boring! He’s perfectly nice!” We giggled for a minute. “But seriously. All of the problems that existed before still do. Madam is still going to freak that I’m in the tabloids.”

“So? Madam has you for one more year and then you’re free to go. Although I doubt she wouldn’t offer you a contract. More publicity for the company means more bodies in seats, doesn’t it?”

I ignored this logic. “Do you think I should tell Ruairi?”

Bianca paused, thinking about her answer. “I think if you tell him, you’d have to accept the fact that he might decide to end things.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

“Because, Rox, who wants to compete with a prince?”

Changing the subject, I told her about Cressida’s odd visit last night, but when I thought about what B had said about Ruairi potentially wanting to break up, I couldn’t disagree.

_Don’t let me darken your door._  
 _That’s not what I came here for._  
 _No, it’s not what I came here for._

Pippa and I went out for mani-pedis when I was done rehearsing one day. She was flipping through a magazine and I was getting my toenails painted (which was a useless venture because the polish would get chipped away almost immediately) when I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Since we were in such a public place, I knew I couldn’t just blurt out the news, so I sent her a text message. I watched as she read it, her eyes growing wide, her mouth dropping open. “No. _Way_ ,” she breathed out, turning to me.

“True story,” I nodded.

“Wow. I can’t believe he finally did it.”

“Okay, how did I miss this?” I asked. “Bianca was acting like it was totally obvious.”

Pippa blinked. “Uh, yeah. Because it is.”

“Wh…how…what makes you say that?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Oh, just because he developed a severe drug habit when you broke his heart.”

I gave her a light-hearted shove. “That is not what happened. But seriously, everyone seems convinced that we belong together or something.”

Pippa was quiet for a minute, and then realized that I was waiting for her to respond. “Oh, I'm sorry, did you expect me to tell you that was ridiculous? Because I’m included in that ‘everyone’ you were talking about.”

“Okay, did you all get hit on the head with something very large? We broke up for a reason.”

“Hm…and what was that reason?”

“Because I wasn’t focused on my dancing!”

“Right, because we were all going out too much. I would think sobriety pretty much solves that problem.”

“That still won’t stop me getting in trouble with Madam for being in the press.”

Pippa shrugged this off and offered the same solution Bianca had. “You only have to deal with Madam for one more year, and then you’re finished. Besides, it’s not like you were ever in any real danger of losing your place at school. Not even after the fall, not _really_.”

“Okay, well…” There were more reasons, I _knew_ there were. “What if I get too involved in my relationship and fuck up dancing again?”

“What if the earth opens up and swallows us whole?”

“What if he relapses? Dr. R said he shouldn’t be romantic with someone for at least a year.”

Pippa looked at her watch. “By my estimate, it’s been almost exactly a year.” I was opening and closing my mouth stupidly in the pedicure chair for a while, during which time Pippa lazily flipped the pages of the magazine. When it was clear that I was out of excuses, she looked back at me. “You know, Rox, out of all those reasons you just pulled out of your ass, not a single one of them was that you didn’t love him anymore.” Before I could jump on that, Pippa just held her hand up and wiggled her pinky finger at me.

_And I won’t hear you cry when I’m gone._   
_I won’t know if I’m doing you wrong._   
_I never know if I’m doing you wrong._

After rehearsal one night, I made an impromptu visit to KP. I knew Harry was out at a charity thing that night, and I wanted to see if Kate had the same reaction to his confession. “Hey!” she said, surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?”

“Is William here?” I asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. “No, he went to the Centrepoint thing with Harry. Why?”

“I need to ask you something.”

Kate opened the door and ushered me inside. “Come in, come in. Are you okay? You look a bit flushed. I’ll put some tea on.” She boiled water and brewed chamomile for us before we sat down at the island table in the kitchen. “So what’s going on? What did you have to ask me?”

Scratching my head, I slowly ventured, “Were you…under the impression that Harry still had feelings for me?”

Kate tilted her head to one side. “Is that a serious question?”

“Um…yes.”

She grinned. “I think everyone was probably under that impression.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “I really wish somebody would have told me!”  
“You were with Ruairi! Besides, this is the sort of thing you need to work out for yourself,” she added.

“I don’t need to work anything out! Things with Harry and I are over.”

“Right, and why is that again?”  
“Because! They just are! I’ve moved on, I’m with someone else. Those feelings just aren’t the same anymore.”

“Well of course they’re not the same. Harry’s been through a year of some deep, intensive therapy, and you’ve been through a year of…whatever the hell it was. It’s not going to be the same as it was, and that’s a good thing, because before he was holding on by a thread.”

I paused. “So…what are you saying?”

Kate smiled at me, like she was looking at a toddler who didn’t understand a very basic concept. “I’m saying that it won’t be like before. It will be _better_.”

Letting out a huff, I muttered, “The least you could have done was given me a hint, if all of my friends apparently knew about this, too."

With a smirk, Kate sipped her tea. “Roxy, I’m pretty sure all of the women in Britain knew about this.”

_A constant reminder_   
_of where I can find her,_  
 _a light that might give up the way_  
 _is all that I’m asking for._  
 _Without her, I’m lost._  
 _Oh, my love don’t fade away._

After my talks with the girls, I could hardly think about anything but the new information I’d gathered over the past couple of days. It was actually kind of a relief because it kept me from obsessing over the huge show I’d be performing in very soon.  
Over dinner one night, Ruairi was talking about something at school. I didn’t realize he’d asked me something for a minute. He had to repeat the question a few times. “Oh, sorry, what?” I snapped out of it.

“Everything okay over there?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I’m just…thinking about the show.”  
Ruairi smiled at me and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be great.” I let out a sigh, feeling even guiltier because he was being so nice.

_So watch the world tear us apart -_   
_a stoic mind a bleeding heart._  
 _You never see my bleeding heart._

It was getting harder and harder to hide this huge secret from Rory. But I didn’t want to tell him, not just yet. Not until I figured out what I was going to do with this new information. 

Last year around this time I’d stopped paying as much attention to school and dancing because of everything else that was going on in my life. This time around, I did the exact opposite. I poured every single emotion I was feeling into our dance. Even Marcus noticed and high-fived me. “We’re going to steal the show, Roxy. We really are. Everyone will be like, ‘Elton John who?’” I laughed and gave him a hug, not sure if he was being realistic, but appreciating him all the same.

_And your light’s always shining on,_  
 _and I’ve been traveling oh, so long._  
 _I’ve been traveling oh so long._

I was actually amazed that I was able to focus on Harry’s confession. It wasn’t like I had all the time in the world. I was spending an insane amount of time at school and at the stadium. It was crazy. It seemed like there was barely even had any time to sleep. 

I was reminded of what had been going on, however, because on the rare occasion that I was home, I would look out of my back kitchen window. There was the same blacked out car idling there. There was the same thin stream of smoke coming out the window. I wanted to shout, “Leave me alone! I need space! You’re suffocating me!” It felt like I was being crushed under everything - under the concert, under Harry’s confession, under Bianca’s recovery. My entire life was pushing down on my chest, flattening my lungs until they were like sad, deflated balloons.   
One night, I was seriously contemplating going out there and telling him to leave, but he must have sensed my thoughts or energy or something because the car pulled away from the curb. With a weary sigh, I trudged upstairs to my bedroom. Right after my head hit the pillow and right before I was completely knocked out, I looked at my hands, spread out my fingers, and wiggled my pinky, wondering if Harry was in the back of the car and feeling my pull.

_A constant reminder_   
_of where I can find her,_  
 _a light that might give up the way_  
 _is all that I’m asking._  
 _Without her, I’m lost._  
 _Oh, my love don’t fade away._  
 _Oh, my love don’t fade away._


	74. At Least It Wasn't Spanish Flu

After three days which primarily involved me avoiding Harry at practices, procrastinating, and second-guessing virtually every choice I’d made since I was in London, I bucked up and called Ruairi. I made it seem like everything was normal so as not to freak him out, telling him that a new _Downton Abbey_ was on and I’d make dinner. Both of those things were true...I just left out that I had big news to tell him regarding one HRH, because that was always bad news.

We made it through dinner and _Downton_ , but it was rough. I couldn’t stop thinking of the way Bianca had kept insisting that my life mirrored the love triangle between Matthew, Lavinia, and Mary. It wasn’t until later when we were watching the news that the mood shifted. We were cuddled up on the couch when the anchor started talking about what a star-studded affair that the concert was going to be. The stock images shot to a clip of Harry and William following behind the funeral procession. My body stiffened against Ruairi. He gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be great,” he assured me, assuming I was just nervous.

“Oh…yeah. I mean, I’m not nervous about it or anything.” I sat up on the couch and placed my hand on his chest. “Okay, look. I need to tell you something. And I need you not to freak out.”

Ruairi raised an eyebrow. “The last time you started a conversation like this, you told me your ex was Prince Illegitimate.”

“Don’t call him that,” I quietly scolded, looking down at my hands in my lap. “And…and it’s about Harry this time, too,” I warned.

Sitting up straight, Ruairi crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. Lay it on me.”

“Okay…well, I want you to know that nothing has changed and I’m still…you know...in this.” I paused before continuing. “Harry told me the other day that he…well, he still has feelings for me.”

There was agonizing silence. Ruairi’s eyebrows rose. After a second, he got off the couch. 

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you’d just broken up with me,” he said, taking his jacket off the coat hanger.

“How did you get that from what I just said?”

He laughed sarcastically. “What you just _said_ was that your ex-boyfriend, the Prince of Wales, was still in love with you.”

My first instinct was to correct him. Harry was Prince Harry of Wales. Prince Charles was _the_ Prince of Wales. Shaking my head, I went with my second instinct. “ _And_ that nothing had changed! Did you miss _that_ part?” I was sort of yelling now, and suddenly what I’d told Harry about Ruairi being uncomplicated started to unravel.

Ruairi gave me an exaggerated bow. “Oh, well, thank you for your gracious charity, Your Highness.”

“What charity? I’m not taking pity on you,” I tried to explain. 

“So then why, exactly, _are_ you dating me?” he asked.

“Because I _like_ you. Do I need a better reason?” I asked him.

I thought it was a perfectly legitimate question, but Ruairi apparently thought otherwise. “Are you joking? I’m not going to _deign_ to be your second choice, Roxy.”

It felt like I'd fallen right on my back from somewhere high up, like the air had been knocked out of my lungs in one quick _whoosh_ , and it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to get to the bottom of this one. Ruairi had me here. “Ruairi, I never meant for this to happen. I thought that Harry and I were over,” I tried to explain.

He shook his head. “I don’t care. And I don’t care to hear any more of this.”

“Wait, Ruairi,” I pleaded desperately when he reached for the door. “I don’t want to leave things so badly.” 

He turned back to look at me with a hopeless shrug. “What do you want me to say, Roxy? I’m pissed off.”

Deciding that this was reasonable, I wrung my hands, trying to figure out a delicate way to say the thing I still had to say. “All right. That’s…okay. But...and I hate to ask, but I just need to know that you won’t…talk to anyone about any of this.”

“So now not only have I wasted the last six months being the consolation prize to Prince Harry, but you’re insulting me by suggesting that I would sell this story to _The Daily Beast_?” I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Fuck you, Roxy. This is the problem with the monarchy. You all think your shite don’t stink, and nobody else fucking cares.” He left, and slammed the door behind him. I stood there for a second before rushing to the door, opening it, and staring down after him, just to make sure there wouldn’t be press reporting that he’d angrily left my apartment late at night. There was no one. 

“Well…well I’m not even a member of the monarchy!” I shouted after him. In response to my rather lame comeback, Ruairi raised his middle finger at me. 

_Okay_ , I thought, as I shut the door behind me. So it wasn’t a perfect ending, but at least it wasn’t Spanish Flu.


	75. The Other End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Thursday was devoted to a run-through of the show, so on Friday we had nothing to do but sit around and wait for Judgment Day. I was reading _Great Expectations_ , hoping to distract myself with fancy characters and fancier words, but I just couldn’t focus. Besides, it was hard to have sympathy for Pip when he was in love with somebody complicated and distant, and kind of being a jerk to his friends and family. Actually, maybe I was just over-identifying...I got up to make tea and opened the window, inhaling. It had been raining off and on all day, and the air smelled so good, like summer. I wasn’t sure why, but the summer air in London always smelled so delicious, so clear and sweet, but just a little bit pungent. For the first time in a long time, I got that feeling that Dr. Rosenblum had reminded me of - the feeling like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Suddenly, I was aware of how alone I was in the apartment. I’d been living in it without Bianca all this time, and without her presence it seemed so lonely. The stairs didn’t creak where she’d step on them. The faucet was never running in the bathroom while I was downstairs watching TV. I missed her, and not wanting to be alone in the house anymore, I grabbed an umbrella and made my way to Regents Park. Finding an empty bench, I sat down, watching the cyclers, dog-walkers, and couples on an afternoon stroll holding hands. A few moms passed by, pushing their babies in prams, holding Starbucks cups. I took a deep breath through my nose and closed my eyes.

_“Just tell me again.”_

_“It’s a horrible story.”_

_“I like it.”_

_Harry wrapped his arms around my waist, grazed his lips against my neck. “My great-great-great-a-thousand-greats ancestor, Charles II, was caught by his wife, Queen Catherine, picking flowers for his mistress. Naturally, she was not pleased by this, and she got so angry that she ordered all of the flowers be removed from the gardens. But the daffodil still grows back, every year.” I turned around. Harry grinned. “I told you. I come from a long line of men who have never known monogamy.”_

_I placed my hand on his cheek. “You’re not like them, Harry.” To make my point, I gave him a long kiss, biting down a little on his bottom lip. “You have me.”_

_He had me._

Oh, God.

He had me.

Panicked, I jumped off the bench and opened my umbrella, as it had started to sprinkle. “Taxi! Taxi!” I shouted like a crazy person. Some people may have looked, vaguely thinking that I used to be someone of importance. A taxi pulled up to the curb. “I need you to go to Kensington.”

“Where?”

“Kensington Gardens, near the Palace entrance,” I insisted.

“Miss, I can’t just _drive_ to the Kensington Palace entrance,” he explained, as he’d probably done before to a bunch of American women.

“Well I can,” I assured him. “I’m Roxy DeLaSearle. I’m Prince Harry’s ex-girlfriend.”

The cab driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, but still didn’t pull away from the curb. “What if he refuses to see you?”

“This is a cab ride, not _Oprah_! Now come on!”

That seemed to convince him. He pulled away from the curb and my knee bounced up and down the whole way there. What was I doing? What was I going to say? What was _he_ going to say? Maybe it could be like a movie and we’d just run to each other while music played. Or maybe he’d wreck me like I’d wrecked him. The thought made me want to hurl, so I just focused on looking out the window. The rain was lightening up again, and there were little kids in bright yellow wellies jumping in puddles on the sidewalk.

I didn’t notice that we had pulled up to the Palace until I heard the cab driver trying to explain to the guard, “This girl here says she knows Prince Harry.”

Quickly, before we got guns drawn on us, I rolled my window down. “Hey. It’s just me. Is he in?”

The guard bowed to me. “Yes, of course, Miss DeLaSearle. Go right in.” 

The gate opened and the cab driver slowly proceeded. “Well, wouldn’t you know,” he breathed out.

I threw twenty quid in his face and opened the car door. When I got to the door to Harry’s apartment, I took a second to smooth down my clothes, de-frizz my hair, and then knocked.

Harry answered the door in jeans and a blue sweater. My heart fluttered. “Hi.”

“Uh…hi,” he said warily.

“I know I should have called, I just had to come over here and talk to you. I feel terrible about what I said the other day and…” Suddenly, I didn’t want to be confessing my love for him on his front stoop. “Do you maybe want to come walk with me?”

Harry seemed to put some thought into this before giving in. “Yeah, all right.”

Years and years ago, before Harry and I were even born, Prince Charles had taken an interest in horticulture. The papers used to make fun of him all the time, portraying him as a looney who talked to plants. The reality was that Harry’s dad had taken an active interest in the green movement and sustainable farming far before there was a green movement, and way before there were Whole Foods stores, their parking lots jam-packed with soccer moms in hybrid SUVs. As a result, the gardens around KP were a sight to behold. It was like a scene out of Rebecca. Hedges, rock paths, bubbling fountains, lily ponds, fragrances of roses, jasmine, honey suckles. It was delicious. 

After a while it became clear that I was stalling for time. When we got to the wooden Japanese bridge across the lotus pond, I stopped Harry by lightly touching his forearm. Just that one small touch made me feel warm inside. We sat on the side of the bridge, our legs dangling over. After a while, Harry admitted, “You know, I was hoping you might speak first."  
“Well, that was the plan. I just…I’m not sure where to start,” I told him.

“Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here? The last time we spoke, we didn’t exactly leave things on good terms.”

“Right." I took a deep breath before figuring I just had to dive right in. "You know, when I said that Ruairi was uncomplicated, I meant it. He _is_ uncomplicated. Or…I guess our relationship was uncomplicated. But I think that was because I couldn’t muster up the energy to be…you know, involved. I just didn’t care enough to fight or…or anything. Ever. When Bianca was in trouble, you were the first person I went to because you…you’re my safe place.” Slowly, with caution, I covered his hand with mine and looked up at him. His lips were slightly parted. He looked awed…or disgusted, I couldn’t tell which. “I don’t care if we start over, or if we pick up where we left off, or…or what. I just…I’m done, Harry. I’m spent. I’ve exhausted myself trying not to be with you. I’ve tried everything. And I’m just done.”

It took Harry many long, slow seconds to response. “So…are you saying…" he paused to gulp, "what exactly are you saying?”

Holding his face in my hands, I pressed our foreheads together. “No more. Okay? No more. I’ll make mistakes and so will you, and Lord _knows_ things will get complicated. But I’m all in.”

Harry jerked his head back, gripped my shoulders. “ _All_ in?”

“All in,” I repeated firmly. “You’re on the other end of my thread.”

Harry's eyebrows flew up. ”You mean Pippa told you that ridiculous theory, too?”  
Laughing, I admitted, “She did!” The second syllable was barely spoken when Harry grabbed the back of my head, pulling me towards him, and planted a hard kiss right on my mouth. “I missed you so much,” I told him, not sure if I was speaking or kissing or crying.

“I missed you, and I’m clean, and that will never happen again, and I’m so sorry.”

Desperately, I clutched him to my body. “It’s fine. We’re gonna be okay.” We hugged, or more romantically, _embraced_ , for a few minutes.

Harry lifted his face. His lips grazed my jaw line. “Fox.”

“Spice.” My heart melted. Without a second thought, I jumped up and held my hand out. “Hurry up. I’ve got to be home early tonight. Big day tomorrow,” I winked.

Knowing exactly what I meant, Harry picked me up like he was carrying me over the threshold and we headed back to the apartment, up to his bedroom, laughing, hand in hand just like we had so many times in the past, just like we would so many times in the future.


	76. Give Love Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Start Over" by Beyonce
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.
> 
> ***This chapter contains graphic sexual situations.

_I feel weak, we’ve been here before_  
 _‘cause I feel we keep going back and forth._   
_Maybe it’s over, maybe we’re through,_   
_but I honestly can say I still love you._

By the time Harry and I reached the apartment through the rain, our shoulders were wet from the drizzle. We were both anxious, like it was the first time we were about to do this, and I guess in a way, it kind of was. Harry tangled his fingers with mine, and we both tried to be quiet as we made the way up to his bedroom, like we were trying to keep it a secret, but I didn’t really know why. 

Softly, he shut the door and gently cliked the lock. When he turned back around to me, I felt my entire body shivering with nerves and anticipation. It had never been like this before. I had never been nervous, but now, for some reason, I was. 

_Maybe we reached the mountain peak,_   
_and there’s no more left to climb._   
_And maybe we lost the magic piece,_   
_and we’re both to blind to find._

Harry took two great strides over to me before placing his mouth on mine. The kiss was hungry, almost furious, but I didn’t mind. I kissed him back with equal fervor and near desperation. 

_Let’s start over._   
_Let’s give love their wings._   
_Let’s start over,_   
_stop fighting about the same old thing._   
_Let’s start over._   
_We can’t let our good love die._   
_Maybe we can start all over,_   
_give love another life._

It had been over a year since we’d last done this, and that was far too long. Not just to have sex, but it was too long to have been without him. I never wanted that to happen again, ever. It needed to be like this, always like this, with the rain getting louder outside, with his warm hands all over me. He gathered the hem of my shirt in his fists and we broke away from our hot-blooded kiss so that I could hold my arms up. Harry peeled my shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. I fumbled with his white button down, which was new. I’d certainly never struggled to get him naked before.

Jesus fuck he was…he made me all wobbly all over. I remembered back a few months ago when I’d walked in on him, shirtless and meditating. This was so much better than that, because now he was shirtless and I could take advantage of it. I kissed my way down his chest, over his abs, before dropping to my knees and yanking off his belt. He was already hard as he stepped out of his jeans. When he pulled me into him, I could feel him, and I wanted to laugh. I wasn’t sure why, it was just the only way I could think of to get out just how incredibly happy and downright excited I was about what was about to happen. 

I held in my laughter as Harry walked us back down to his bed. I lay on my back as Harry kissed my neck, his tongue brushing softly over the spot that instantly got me wet. He bit down gently and I let out a tiny, involuntary moan. Harry kissed down my throat, my chest, my ribcage, my belly button. He fumbled with the zipper on my jeans, the way I had with the buttons on his shirt, and it felt better to know that he was just as inexplicably nervous as I was. He peeled my jeans off and discarded them somewhere on the plush green carpet before making for my lacey boy short panties, which were quite damp at the moment. 

_I can see that we’re not happy here,_   
_so why would we keep pretending when there’s nothing there?_   
_Maybe you like it, well I don’t._   
_Maybe you’ll settle, well I won’t._

Breathing hard, Harry looked back up at me. My eyes locked on his and I knew he was thinking the same thing that I was. We were really going to do this? We were really going to go back here again?

_Maybe we reached the mountain peak,_   
_and there’s no more left to climb._   
_And maybe we lost the magic piece,_   
_and we’re both to blind to find._

Yes. 

Yes, right now.

_Let’s start over._   
_Let’s give love their wings._   
_Let’s start over,_   
_stop fighting about the same old thing._   
_Let’s start over._   
_We can’t let our good love die._

I lifted my hips up. Harry let out a shuttering sigh before my boy shorts hit the floor. 

_Maybe we can start all over,_   
_give love another life._

Harry’s tongue made soft contact with me. I gripped the sheets in my fists and leaned my head back, crying out. He slowly rolled his tongue up and down, tasting me, all of me. I reached up and banged my fist against the heavy oak headboard. Oh God, I could feel everything starting to pour out of me. Oh God, I was going to…but Harry stopped. Assuming that he wanted reciprocation, I attempted to return the favor, but Harry stopped me. Confused, I shook my head at him. “I can’t,” he admitted in a husky, urgent voice. I bit down on my lower lip, shivering as he reached into the drawer of his bedside table. 

Back in May, I’d watched him reach into that drawer, certain that we’d never be here, doing this, ever again. Thank _God_ I’d been wrong. 

Harry tore the foil packet open with his teeth, rolled the condom on, and kissed his way back up my body. I lifted my shoulders up off the bed so that he could reach behind and unclasp my bra. It, too, went flying to the floor as he kissed my neck, down to my collarbone, before his mouth wrapped around my nipple. I let out a deep, quivering breath as his tongue swirled around me. I reached down, guiding his hard on, and even though I knew what was coming, I still gasped. He was so much more than I remembered. 

The rain was pounding against the windows as Harry kissed my neck, but he only teased me by entering the tip of his cock into me. “More,” I requested, gasping into his ear. Harry obeyed and I let out nearly primal cry. He pushed into me, filling me in so many ways. I tilted my hips up, desperate to have all of him. He started slow, gentle, swallowing hard and looking me in the eye, trying to gauge whether or not I was into it, which I very, very was.

Still unsatisfied and needing more, I leaned up and bit down on his shoulder, pushing him over so that I was on top. Harry gripped my hips, hard, and I knew I’d have bruises there tomorrow. I didn’t care as we moved completely in sync. Oh God, I was going to…but again, Harry stopped. 

I opened and closed my mouth, perplexed as to what was going on. _If he’s changed his mind, I might kill myself._

Wrapping one hand around the back of my neck, Harry looked me in the eye as he breathed out, “You are so beautiful. I am so lucky to have you.” 

_I know that this will hurt you._  
 _I know you’ll cry._   
_I know I called you selfish, but that’s a lie._   
_I feel I know what’s best for us._

And then, horrified, I felt my eyes start to sting with tears. This wasn’t a thing that actually happened – people didn’t cry during sex. Sure, maybe women in Danielle Steele novels, or teenage boys who were losing their virginity in some awful, awkward exchange. But not me. Not now. 

Except…except there had been so many times in the past year where I’d been so utterly and completely miserable. It had been hard just to wake up and get out of bed sometimes, because I knew that I was never going to be with Harry again. He was never going to call me his darling girl in his delicious husky voice. He wasn’t going to love me again. But all of my misery, all of my tears, they all been for nothing, because here we were, and the truth was that we’d always been here. Our string had been hung up, tangled, snagged on something, but we were back together now, and everything was going to be okay.

_Let’s start over,_   
_and let’s give love their wings._   
_Let’s start over._  
 _I’m tired of fighting about the same old thing._   
_Let’s start over._   
_We both know this love won’t die._

Harry pulled me even closer and I rolled my hips over him. He let out a rumble from deep in his throat, thrust into me, and I felt my whole body shake. I could feel everything inside of me and outside, the air around us on my skin and finally we were here again, together.

_Maybe we can start all over_   
_and give love another life._

***

With a satisfied groan, I flopped down on my back. “Good _God_ I missed that.”

Grinning, Harry reached into his drawer and pulled out a cigarette. “Not sure we should have done that, actually.”

“Excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow.

Chuckling, he reminded me, “It hasn’t been a year proper yet. Pretty sure Dr. R wouldn’t approve.”

“Harry, could you not think about Dr. R right after we just had sex?” I requested.

Laughing, Harry agreed to this. I plucked the cigarette from his hands and took a few puffs before handing it back to him. Harry finished it before stubbing it out in an ashtray and turning on his side. “So…when you say ‘all in,’” he began…but didn’t finish.

Slowly, I prompted, “Yes?”

“Well…it wasn’t my idea to break up the last time. Or the time before that.”

“The time before that wasn’t _actually_ a break up, since we weren’t _actually_ together.”

“Whatever you say,” he rolled his eyes. “What saying is…well, I’m a bit older than you and…and I think that…when I think about it, I feel like…”  
“For the love of God and all that is Holy _please_ just spit it out, Harry.”

He gripped my jaw in his hand before planting a hard kiss on my mouth. “You know, for an atheist, you’ve been calling on the Holy Father a lot lately.” I laughed and nudged him, urging him to go on. Finally, looking me right in the eye, and with a smile so big and goofy it could only be caused from pure, genuine happiness, he simply said, “There are no deal breakers for me, Roxanna. Nothing I can think of would make me want to ever go through anything like that again. I mean, obviously we can’t see the future or anything but…but I want to be with you. I want to get down on one knee. I want to see you in a white dress. I want to hold a little dark-haired baby girl in my arms.”

As Harry mapped out our future, I shut my eyes, and the crazy part was that I could picture it all, as clear as if it were really happening. I saw myself in a beautiful ivory dress, walking down a long aisle to my tall, proud, handsome man. I saw us in a hospital, holding a dark-haired baby girl with wide blue eyes. I saw us chasing that little girl and another small red-head around the gardens at KP. I saw it all; every day together, and every night, for the rest of our lives. Opening my eyes, I turned to Harry. “Can we have a ginger baby, too?”

Obviously shocked, Harry blinked and gulped before kissing my face all over. “My darling girl. I love you so very much.”

For the second time that day, my eyes started to get hot with tears. I remembered lying awake at my mom's house over winter break, tears silently leaking out of my eyes as I thought that I would never hear Harry call me his darling girl ever again. The realization had been devastating, making my whole body feel the heartache. And here I was again. Back to being his darling girl. “Almost as much as I love you, kid,” I smiled at him before pressing my body against his and, laughing from happiness, we reunited again.


	77. Show Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

There was no time. At six in the morning, a run through of the whole show started. After that I was rushed into a room with all of the performers for some press release shots. When _those_ were finally over, I had to make a mad dash for hair and make up. Sometime around three in the afternoon I found myself nearly running into Marcus backstage. “Ready to go, Princess?” he smirked.

“If you drop me, I will have you locked in the Tower.”

Before he could pretend to be offended, the stage lights lowered. _This is it_ , I thought, taking a deep breath and…

My life could have been so different. I could be at a college in the U.S. right now, drinking at Rutgers with the Phi Kappa Alphas. I could have never decided to go out that night with Bianca. I could have never spilled my drink. I could have never been at Will and Kate’s wedding. I could have not come when Kate called about Harry. I could have gone to someone else for help about Bianca. But for some reason, the planets had all aligned, and I was here, today, dancing in memory of the woman whom I’d mourned for, the mother of the man I was stupidly in love with.

Entirely too soon, the song was over. Marcus placed me gingerly back on the stage. My ears were ringing at the thunderous applause. My heart felt like it was bursting. I wanted to do this every day, over and over again, just like tonight. Smiling as wide as I could, I gracefully placed one leg behind the other and curtsied, before repeating the motion on opposite legs. Someone in the front row threw a bouquet of flowers onto the stage. I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears as I picked it up and waved to the audience. _Can you see me?_ I thought, the image of Harry’s mother coming to mind. The sound of the audience’s applause told me that she could, and that all of this was okay by her.

Suddenly, I had a thought. Maybe, one night in August, when I was four years old, a beautiful, ethereal angel had come down and tied a red thread around my pinky in my sleep. Then, she’d travelled across an ocean, and tied the other end around her young son’s pinky finger. And she’d been watching, waiting this whole time for that thread to pull us together. 

Thankfully, the curtain fell before I could feel like a beauty queen, holding a bouquet and crying while wearing a tiara. 

As soon as the curtain was down, I threw my arms around Marcus. “Couldn’t you just _die_?” I asked. “That was amazing!”

Marcus laughed. “So you like being a Fairy better than a princess?”

Frowning, I replied, “I don’t know. Would you rather be a fairy or a queen?”

A stage assistant came along and directed us back to our respective dressing rooms. I smiled at the familiar bouquet of daffodils on my dressing table. Plucking the card out, I read, _Meet me in the box. – Spice_. My heart melted. A year ago I’d thought that the best day of my life was William and Kate's wedding, but today was about a _thousand_ times better. I was going to have to chase this feeling, the elusive having-it-all dream. Unfortunately, only part of that dream would be spent in this beautiful costume.

After I’d changed into a more normal-looking outfit, I exited my dressing room and headed up the arena to the box where Harry, William, Kate, Piers, and some other VIPs were watching the show. In the elevator on my way up, I got a text from Bianca. _Watched the broadcast - you and Marcus were absolutely fantastic!_ I texted her back that I wished she was there - it was the one aspect of the day that wasn't completely perfect. 

When I entered the private box, no one noticed at first. I gravitated toward the bar, got a glass of champagne, and turned when I heard Piers announce, “Roxanna DeLaSearle! Prima ballerina!”

“Hey Piers,” I smiled, air kissing him on both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You too. You were extraordinary, Roxy, really,” he assured me.

The others flocked to me. Kate took my hands, squeezing them excitedly. “Roxy! You were so good!” she gushed. “You’re so talented, it makes me ill!”

Chuckling at his wife's enthusiasm, William hugged me. “You were wonderful, Roxy. Thank you so much for doing this.”

Harry had his head down, seeming shy in a weird way. When the others dispersed, he opened his mouth to speak. Instead, we both jumped, hearing the booming voice of Hugh Grant. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sir Elton John.” I giggled nervously as he started to play the instantly recognizable “Tiny Dancer” intro. Not really knowing what to do next, I wrapped my arms around Harry’s neck. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Dancing,” I answered. “Duh.”

We swayed through the first verse. “You were beautiful out there, Roxanna,” he told me softly.

“Thank you,” I smiled. Something was different, though. I felt it deep down in the pit of my stomach – the way you just know some things sometimes. Yesterday I had said that Harry and I could pick up where we left off or start over, and right now it was clear which road we were taking. The truth was that it would have been impossible for Harry and I to pick up where we left off, because we were different people. We’d spent the past year evolving and turning into different versions of ourselves – _better_ versions of ourselves. I didn’t know this new Harry, and he didn’t know me, and yet we knew each other in the most intimate, thorough ways you could know a person. We would have to spend some time getting reacquainted, but I knew that we were supposed to be right here, right now, together. 

Despite my best efforts, I felt my eyes start to sting with tears. Harry brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes – a familiar feeling while I looked into new eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

Shaking my head, I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t know. It’s just been a lot. And…I just wish…”

Without finished my sentence, Harry just gave me an assuring smile. “I know,” he told me. “She would have loved you.”

Satisfied, I sighed and rested my cheek against his chest. Harry kissed the top of my head. And we swayed.


	78. Running Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter picks up during the October after the previous chapter.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Okay girls! _Asseyez vous!_ ” Madam clapped her bony hands together and I released my body from its pose. The rest of the girls formed a semi-circle around her. I joined the back of the group, choosing a spot close to the door, but with a good view of the single clock above the studio mirrors. I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing up and down, but I tried not to be too obvious. Madam was giving us the same speech she’d given us for the past three years. It was just about spring semester workshop, which, okay, was a big deal, but first of all, it was October. Also, I’d already danced in two of spring shops, not to mention the two _Nutcracker_ performances, _and_ the Concert for Diana last spring semester! I was surprised to find that Madam’s speech _did_ vary a little this time. She included a reminder that none of us needed about how it was the last chance for us, and that very soon after spring shop we’d be getting offers from ballet companies around the world and blah, blah, blah.

“Roxy.” I stopped the knee-bouncing and looked instantly from the clock to Madam. “Do you have somewhere more important to be?” she asked.

With a tight smile, I replied, “Oh, no, Madam. None at all.” _Total_ lie. I had to rush back to my apartment, grab my overnight bag, and take the tube to Paddington Station, and take the _train_ to Cheltenham. Then tomorrow, I was going to the horse races, which I was really looking forward to! But I was already running dangerously behind, and if I missed the last train out of Paddington, Spice would _kill_ me.

“So remember, ladies, that _The Nutcracker_ and spring workshop are your _last_ chances to impress us.”

I was the first girl up in the air. Grabbing my dance bag, I wrapped my sweater around myself, tying it around my waist and hiding my lavender ballet skirt. When I left the gates of the school, I considered my options. If I took a cab, it would be quicker, but more expensive. Swearing under my breath, I rushed for the tube station. Maybe it was because I had grown up so close to New York City, or maybe I really liked homeless people, but for some reason I _loved_ the tube, especially during rush hour. The trains were always jam packed. Everyone was far too busy to notice that I was hardly wearing any clothes.

“You’re late!” Bianca called as I threw open our front door. She'd returned from her program at a rehab facility just after the Concert for Diana, and I was thrilled to have her home again.  
“I know, I know!” I called back, sprinting up the stairs. I grabbed my bag off my bed and was about to run back to the tube station.

“Roxy!”

“What?”

“You _have_ to put on real clothes!” Bianca demanded.

“Can’t!” I panted. “No time!”

“Roxy, it’s not appropriate!”  
Over my shoulder, I assured her, “I’ll change on the train!” and shut the front door behind me.

When I reached Paddington Station, the lines for the tickets kiosks were far too long to waste time in. Damn! I had planned on the kiosk! Diverting from the plan, I rushed over to the ticket window. The clerk did a double take but otherwise seemed not to notice me. “I need a ticket to Cheltenham,” I demanded, out of breath, "and I need you to tell me that’s still an option.”

The clerk rolled his eyes. “You’ve got three minutes. Platform nine.” 

"Are you sure it's not 9 ¾!” The clerk was not amused. Really? Not even a smile for a Harry Potter joke? Humiliated, I gave him my card and he slid it back over with a grey and orange cardstock ticket. Panting and wheezing, I jumped from the platform onto the train as it was pulling away. With a relieved sigh, I dropped my overnight bag and my dance bag and looked up. Most of the other passengers were looking up at me, curious and surprised. Even if they didn’t know who I was, they probably would have done this anyway. I was, after all, wearing a black leotard, a purple ballet skirt, and pink tights rolled halfway up my calves. I awkwardly smiled before making my way down the aisle to an empty seat. Ah, public transportation: the great equalizer of men.

“They couldn’t spring for a car?”

On American trains the seats were back to front, two by two. On British ones, you were in a pod of four. You got _just_ enough legroom for it not to be awkward, and I usually preferred it…but not at the moment. The wise guy was an important-looking businessman. He had cracked up the two other people in the pod – a posh-looking woman and a young man who was clearly still at university. I smiled good-naturedly and opened my book, _Rebecca_ , which I was reading for the upteenth time.

After a while I sensed an awkward tension. When I looked up, the other three immediately looked away. The businessman went back to his paper, the girl was tapping out a message on her Blackberry, and the university student looked out the window, nodding his head to his ipod. “Going to Cheltenham?” the man finally asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I nodded, sort of surprised that he was being so outgoing.

“Have you ever been?”

Hadn’t this man ever been told not to talk to strangers? See, this was the problem: people assumed that I wasn’t a stranger. I couldn’t blame anyone; I got it. I’d bought tabloids in the U.S. about Will and Kate when they’d first started dating. Everyone wanted the inside scoop. The problem was that it created this weird dynamic. Harry, William, Kate – they were public property (well, not all of the time, like on private vacations in France when Kate was sunbathing…topless), but I wasn’t a member of the Firm. I was still my very own private practice, only no one seemed to interpret it that way but me. There was no such thing as privacy when you were dating the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor. “No, I haven’t,” I admitted. “From what I hear it’s kind of a big deal.” 

“Do you know what you’re wearing?” the posh girl asked, giving me a once over.

Feeling judged, I gestured to my outfit. “I just got out of practice,” I explained. My convertible tights were still up around my knees. “I don’t know what I’m wearing. My friend is there and she’s picked some stuff out for me.”

The girl nodded slowly, probably deducing on her own that my "friend" was the Duchess of Cambridge. “You should try a hat. Or a fascinator,” she suggested.

“Eh, I don’t know,” I told her. The biggest reason I didn’t want to was because those were sort of Kate’s thing. “I can’t pull that stuff off. Plus, I always have to wear costumes. So I like looking normal.”

She nodded. “Definitely. But if you don’t wear a hat to Cheltenham…well, I wouldn’t do it.”

Slowly, I looked at the men sitting across from us. They nodded in agreement. “Well…oh.” Deflated, I sat back against the seat. Kate had been urging me to do the same thing for weeks. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

So, fascinator or no fascinator? Life could be so hard sometimes.

***

After I'd changed on the train and had a long chat with the woman in the pod about Phillip Traecy headwear, I waved good-bye to my train mates and looked for a silver Range Rover. I spotted it and noticed that someone was smoking in the back seat. Frowning, I made my way over to the car and opened the door.

Harry gave me a guilty smile and exhaled. “Oh. Hello there. You’re early.” I stood there, hand on my hip. Harry put out his cigarette, got out of the SUV, and embraced me. Once in a blue moon we out-witted the paparazzi, and this was one of those times. We weren’t two people in a photograph that would be published by every major tabloid in the country tomorrow; just a girl and boy in love who hadn’t seen each other in a while. Incidentally, we were also just a girl and boy in love who had only been reunited for the past couple of months. Even though we’d dated before, it was just like the first time – those first months of a new relationship where everything is exciting, everything gives you butterflies, and you can’t keep your hands off each other. My heart sped up as, pressing his lips to mine, Harry pushed me up against the car. He pulled away slowly, keeping our foreheads pressed together. “Hello darling.”

In a sweet voice, I responded. “You taste like an ashtray.”

As I slid into the car, Harry threw my bag in the boot and got in after me. “Oh, _please_ , I can’t do anything else fun. Just let me have cigarettes.”

“That is the worst argument for anything I’ve ever heard,” I told him. Then, I asked, “Do you liked my outfit? I changed on the train and some girl did my make up.” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Some girl?” he asked with a smirk. “Roxy, what have I told you about talking to strangers?”

“Don’t be so paranoid. I had a conversation on a train. I didn’t call up Rupert Murdoch and let him know where I’d be tomorrow.” Harry still didn’t seem satisfied. The truth was that he _could_ have sent a car for me, and he probably would have preferred it, but I had always protested. “She said I should definitely wear a fascinator tomorrow.”

“Well, Kate will be satisfied.” Harry, done with the issue, was nuzzling the spot on my neck that he knew got me ready to go.

“Harry, stop. We have to talk about hats,” I half-heartedly protested.

“We can talk about hats after,” he assured me, slipping his hand under my shirt. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks.” Two weeks wasn’t that long, but it was late October, and Harry and I had just started dating again in early July. So when we had to be apart because Harry was at work or something, it sucked more than usual. 

I weighed the options. The closest royal residence to Cheltenham was Windsor Castle, which was about an hour away, so we had time...Harry bit down on my neck a little. “Okay, put up the partition,” I said, feeling bad for the driver, who was no stranger to our sex life.

***

Kate opened the door and her eyes widened. “Okay, come in here immediately.” I didn’t have time to say anything before she started running her hands through my hair. After telling Harry to tuck in his shirt, she sighed wistfully. “I remember the days where you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

“Kate, you haven’t even been married for two years,” I pointed out.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t yesterday that I was remembering,” she winked. Deciding that I was fit to see the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh, Kate led us to where rest of the family were gathered. Harry greeted his granny with a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. I curtsied in front of her.

“How was your journey, Roxanna?” she asked with a smile.

I knew I wasn’t her favorite person on the planet. She, like Harry, was not wild about the fact that I insisted upon doing things like taking public transportation. She hadn’t liked it when Kate did it, either, but the reality was that the public’s opinion was more important. I thought it would be worse if I was spending taxes by taking private cars everywhere. The Queen _did_ like the fact that I had a career plan. She was certainly never mean or rude to me, or anyone, as far as I could tell, but I could never quite figure out where I stood with her. “It was good. I think I have a better idea of what I’m wearing tomorrow.”

The Queen frowned. “Oh dear. You don’t know what you’re going to wear yet?”

“That’s my Roxy,” Harry joked before changing the subject.

Kate poured me a cup of tea. “So…fascinator?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided,” I shrugged. 

At that moment, Harry’s step-mother (who, unlike the Queen, always made it very clear what she thought of me, and it was nothing good) joined Kate and I. “Roxanna, you _have_ to wear a hat to Cheltenham,” she insisted.

“Oh…well…maybe,” I answered vaguely.

Camilla looked up from her tea. “It wasn’t a question, my dear. If you don’t, you’ll look horribly under dressed and the press will be on holiday bashing you.”

Kate politely looked away. “Well, not everything is about what the press will say,” I responded.

Camilla laughed and then realized I was serious. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be so naïve.”

I sort of understood why Harry insisted on smoking. “I just don’t know yet,” I concluded, "but I’m sure Kate and I will figure something out.”

“Yes, come, let me show you what I’ve got,” Kate helpfully suggested, and we left the sitting room. As soon as we were out earshot, Kate allowed, “Okay.”

“What is her _problem_?” I growled. “For someone who seems so concerned about the public image, she really buggered hers!”

Making like she had claws, Kate responded with, “Me- _ow_.”

We were giggling when we turned the corner. The residence had such a weird layout because of generations of guttings and re-designing and too much square footage than anyone knew what to do with. Kate and I had to go through the kitchen and breakfast nook to get to the staircase closest to Will and Kate’s bedroom, where my potential outfits were. Abruptly, Kate stopped me, and the two of us ducked back behind the half wall separating the kitchen and nook. William was sitting at the table with his dad. They both had serious looks on their faces. WilliM was smoking, which I hadn’t seen him do since before he and Kate got married. I was about to ask her about it but she put a finger to her lips, signaling for me to be quiet.

“It seems incredibly unfair,” William said, staring off into the empty space in front of him.

“It does,” Charles agreed. “I understand your frustrations, William, but you must understand that the entire future of the monarchy cannot be thrown into jeopardy.”

The chair made a scraping sound on the tiles as William pushed it backwards and stood up. “I know, Papa,” he snapped, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ve known that since I was eleven, and I’m tired of hearing it.” I looked at Kate as William stormed off. She was looking down, a grave expression on her face. When she looked back up, she tapped me on the shoulder and we walked slowly into the room like we _hadn’t_ just been spying on Prince Charles and William.

“Hello Papa,” Kate greeted him.

Charles looked up, startled. “Oh, hello Roxanna. I didn’t know you were here," he greeted me with a hug. I’d been very intimidated by Prince Charles in the beginning, but he’d never been anything but very sweet to me. It had made things pretty awkward when Harry and I broke up…and then got back together. Prince Charles had made it clear that he was glad to see me around again, though. More than once he’d given me full credit for keeping Harry alive last year. I was absolutely certain that I deserved the least credit for that out of anyone involved in the situation, but Harry’s father didn’t care. When we’d first gotten back together, I’d been afraid he’d hold a grudge. On the contrary, he’d simply said, “Roxanna, it’s delightful to see you coming round again.” 

Actually, now that I thought about it, everyone in Harry’s life had reacted pretty simply to our reunion. Will and Kate had been ecstatic, Charles had been friendly and pleased, Camilla hadn’t tried to hide the fact that she thought it was ridiculous. If anyone had reacted in an odd way, it had been Harry’s therapist, Dr. R. Dr. R had been treating Harry through his addiction recovery for over a year now, and he was none too thrilled about the idea that Harry and I were seeing each other again so soon. He warned us that our relationship may become co-dependant, which was extremely unhealthy. I sat down with him for a few sessions and Harry continued to go to AA and NA meetings, and over time Dr. R had become far less concerned. 

“I just got here. Kate and I are going to pick out my outfit,” I told Charles.

You’d think that a man who had just gotten into an altercation with his son like the one we’d just witnessed would have more important things to worry about. Proving me wrong, Prince Charles looked shocked and replied, “Heavens. You don’t have an outfit yet?”

***

It was nearly Saturday by the time Kate and I decided on something. It was a coral sheath dress, short airy sleeves, black patent-leather belt. I would be wearing the trademark young royal L.K. Bennett sledge pumps in taupe and, yes, a coral and black feathery fascinator. Now that it was decided, the four of us were in Wilol and Kate's room, gossiping. “So what is this, tomorrow?”

“Uh-oh, Roxy’s afraid we’re throwing her to the wolves,” William joked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I agreed as the others laughed. “I’m serious guys! Come on! What should I expect here?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s a horse race, Roxy. You watch horses race.”

Chewing my lip, I coyly asked, “Can I make bets?”

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, Harry kissed my cheek. “That’s the best part.”

I stood up, yawning, and turned to him. “Take me to bed or lose me forever,” I quoted _Top Gun_. “I’m exhausted. It was the Baton Death March to get here.”

“You _could_ have taken a car,” William muttered, picking up a fascinator and blowing on the feathers.

Kate rolled her eyes. “I think Roxy’s gotten enough of a talking to after Camilla,” she sympathized. With a goodnight hug and kiss for the Cambridges, Harry and I went to our room. 

After we’d turned down the comforter and crawled into bed, I turned to Harry. “Hey, so, I sort of walked in on something today.”

Harry frowned. “What exactly do you mean by that?”  
I explained to him how Kate and I had spied on William and his dad. I’d attempted to talk to Kate about it, but she hadn’t been very forthcoming. I had a feeling that she knew more than she was letting on…which was the same feeling I was getting from Harry as he avoided my eyesight. “Oh, strange,” he coughed, squinting more intently at his ipad.

“So…what were they talking about?” I pressed further.

Harry didn’t say anything, just kept reading. I was about to reprimand him for ignoring me when he looked up. “Darling, there are just some times that I’m not going to be able to tell you everything.”

“Oh. Um…okay,” I shrugged. I was hurt, but there was nothing I could do to change it, and there was nothing Harry could do to make me feel better. So I turned off my light and rolled over, staring at the clock. 

Harry was quiet for a while and I thought he’d fallen asleep when he rolled onto his side and spooned me. “I can think of one way that I _would_ be able to tell you,” he murmured in my ear.

“Harry,” I sighed. 

He either didn’t understand my warning tone or ignored it (probably the latter). “If we were engaged, I could tell you everything.”

Okay, so I knew that Harry was older than me, and I knew that the tabloids had been predicting an engagement announcement since the day after they’d seen us together in a nightclub, but engagement…I mean, I was twenty years old! And I had literally _just_ turned twenty a few months ago. In the States, I wasn’t even old enough to drink! And, yes, in July when Harry and I had gotten back together (which – again – was not that long ago) we’d more or less agreed that in a couple of years we would make that leap. But not in a couple of months! Not when I was twenty! Not when I hadn’t even had a chance to start my career! I’d explained all of these things to Harry the first time he’d brought up putting our relationship on the fast track… _and_ the second time he’d brought it up. “You can tell me everything now,” I corrected him. “You’re just choosing not to.”

“I really can’t,” he insisted.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. I told you, I get it.”

The thing was, I did understand. Really, I did. I wasn’t part of “the firm” yet, and, therefore, there were some privileges to which I was not entitled. On the other hand, though, I didn’t understand, because that was fucking insane. Harry was my boyfriend. We’d been dating for two years. If this were a regular person, we’d have no secrets. None. If this was a normal relationship, I wouldn’t have spent the past four hours deciding which feathers I was going to stick in my head. Not to mention, Harry hid very few things from me, and usually when he was hiding something, it was bad news. And not bad news like “I ate your last chocolate crème” – bad news like he had an extreme drug problem. So no, when Harry kept something a secret from me, I didn’t have high hopes that it wouldn’t suck.


	79. Off to the Races

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Kate was notorious for doing her own makeup and not having a stylist. I was more fashionably challenged. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to match or something, it was just that, if I had my way, I’d be attending the Cheltenham races in jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes I could still get away with those outfits, but these days I usually had to put far more thought into my outfits than I normally would have. So Cheltenham was definitely _not_ one of those times that I could throw my hair up and pull on my old, tattered Bruce Springsteen t-shirt. I was going to require a bit of help from the Duchess.

Before, when Harry’s parents were still married, the press had loved to focus on the dynamic his mother and his aunt, Fergie. Diana was the dainty picture of grace, whereas Fergie was a robust mischief-maker. After their respective divorces, they didn’t get along as well, but the press had always been fascinated by the duo. Kate and I had the relationship that Diana and Fergie were reported to have had, whether or not that was true. I was extremely grateful for this since my older sister and I had never really been close. Her science-minded personality usually clashed with (and outshone) my creativity. She was currently performing brain surgeries in a hospital in Boston while I pirouetted my way across Europe. Since I’d moved to London and started dating Harry, we’d gotten closer, but that was still pretty new. 

I’d also acquired a tight circle of close female friends that I’d never had before. I definitely wasn't the most social person on the face of the earth, having been more of a loner in high school. It was harder, too, because the girls who I spent the most time around were other dancers, and they could get too competitive to truly be friends with. There were plenty of weekends when Kate’s younger sister, Pippa, my roommate Bianca, and I stayed at one of the apartments in Kensington Palace. William and Kate's apartment was right across the way from Harry's so it made for a great meeting place. Other weekends it would just be Bianca, Pippa, and I while the royal trio had some engagement to attend. At least once a week we had a girls’ night, either at KP, our apartment, or one of the few wine bars in the city that knew how to keep a secret.

Thankfully, these close relationships meant that I always had more style-minded people around me. I was appreciating this on Sunday morning as Kate dabbed a sponge dipped in concealer under my eyes. “What are these circles from, Roxy?” Then, standing back to look at her work, she raised an eyebrow. “Or don’t I want to know?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, nothing so exciting.” She leaned back over and started running eyeliner over my lids. I waited for a while, wondering whether or not to broach the subject with her. After all, if Kate was in on it, too (and I suspected that she was based on her sneaking around yesterday), then she probably wouldn’t be much help. Eventually, I figured that if I didn't ask, I'd never know. “I think Harry’s keeping a secret from me.”

Kate didn’t so much as blink, but maybe she was _trying_ not to act suspicious…”Do you think it’s a bad secret, or a good secret? Like, he slept with someone else or he’s throwing you a surprise birthday party?”

I paused. “Kate, my birthday was in August.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And we didn’t throw you a party!” I glared at her back at she turned around to dip an eye shadow brush into some shimmery powder. When she turned back around and saw my face, she sighed. “Fine. Well…you’re not wrong.”

After this confession, Kate – cool as a cucumber – leaned over to apply the eye shadow, but I jerked my head back. “What?”

Kate held my head in place. “Stay still. We don’t have time for dramatics right now.” After a second, as the brush swept over my eyelids, she spoke in a soft voice. “I’m not allowed to say _specifically_ what’s going on, but I _can_ tell you that there’s something going on.”

“Good or bad?” I asked, struggling to keep my eyes closed.

She was slow to answer. “That’s kind of subjective,” she finally concluded.

With another scathing look, I reminded her, “The last time you wouldn’t give me a direct answer it was because Harry was vomiting up heroin.”

“Well I can promise you it’s not that,” she offered with a wide smile, handing me a tube of lip gloss. “We’re going with a light lip today. Don’t want to be too heavy for a daytime event.”

I was about to force her to tell me what was going on but I looked in the mirror to see that William and Harry were standing in the doorframe. I’d been awake for the past two hours, because that was how long it took Kate to make me look like I could leave the house (and yes, the fact that it took so long was humiliating.) It took Harry, however, roughly ten minutes to brush his teeth, shave if he had to, make his hair look like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed, and put on his suit. This was particularly annoying because I _loved_ morning-in-bed Harry. Morning-in-bed Harry was the best Harry; when we were both still half asleep, but he’d instinctively reach out and pull me into him, and I’d rest my head against his chest, his warm body pressed against mine, breathing in the delicious scent of him and the fabric softener on the sheets, feeling his soft-as-silk skin. 

Harry had apparently woken up on time, unlike myself, and he and William were both dressed in beautiful suits; Harry’s dark grey, Will’s navy. Their jackets had tails, their ties were pastel-colored, and they were both wearing top hats. My heart melted and any frustration about this secret dissolved. “Oh my _God_ , you look so _cute_!” I squealed, jumping out of my chair and hugging them both around the shoulders. When I pulled back, I gave Harry and once-over. “You look like Mr. Darcy!”

Harry kissed my cheek. “And you look lovely, darling,” he said, offering me his arm. Giggling, I took it, forgetting that I was mad at him for the time being. He was just so cute!

“To the races!” William exclaimed in a snooty voice, tipping his nose in the air.

We were all a little giddy as we joined the Prince of Wales, the Duchess of Cornwall, the Queen, and the Duke of Edinburgh in the foyer. Kate and I curtsied to the Queen again, as we were supposed to do in her presence. Actually, Kate had to – as an American I was exempt from these rules, but I followed them anyway. I didn’t want to offend anyone, and besides, when Harry and I got married I would have to bow to pretty much everyone, since I would be the lowest on the food chain. I would even have to bow to Will and Kate when I was out with them in public, which they both thought was hilarious. The giddiness that I was feeling over how adorable my boyfriend and his brother looked was quickly sucked out of the room as Harry’s stepmother gave our entwined arms an icy glance. “You’ll have to stop that when we get there,” she reminded us. She was right – as per protocol, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, and wives always had to stay two strides behind their royal mate. Even Prince Philip had to follow this rule with the Queen, but it wasn’t like I needed to be reminded of something I’d been doing for two years. 

Ignoring the comment, Harry kissed my temple as a royal aide (it wasn’t PC to call him a butler, but really that’s what he was) asked if we were ready to be escorted to the cars. The Queen told him that we were. “Old people in one car, young people in the other,” she instructed. He bowed and opened the front door. 

On the way to the car, the Duke of Edinburgh looked behind him. “The young people’s car seems far more fun,” he noted.  
Harry smirked. “Well, it is, Pops, but we could never keep up with you.”

Once we got into our Range Rover (William and Kate in front, Harry and I in back), I tapped Kate's shoulder. “Did you _hear_ that?” I asked, referring to Camilla’s instruction in the foyer. She nodded patiently. “What the hell?”

“Rox,” Harry warned. “It’s Cheltenham! Just have a good time!”

“I’ll have a _great_ time, two steps behind you,” I snapped at him.

Harry looked to his brother to save him. William just shrugged. “Should I remind you again that I look like Mr. Darcy?” Not amused, I looked out the window. After an awkward silence, Harry swept me up in his arms and recited dramatically, “Oh, Miss Bennett! In vain I have struggled! It will not do! I must tell you how ardently I love and admire you!” While he did this, he covered my face and hands in kisses.

Laughing despite myself, I pushed him away. “Harry! Stop! You’ll crush my fascinator!”

“You’re damn right I will,” he wiggled his eyebrows at me.

Tipping my head back, I laughed at how ridiculous he was being and smoothed down my dress. “You know she said no to him that time,” I reminded Harry of Lizzie Bennett’s rejection.

“Rox, how many times do you reckon you’ve seen the Colin Firth version of that film?” William asked, genuinely curious.

Before I could answer, Harry replied, “A hundred.”

Kate grinned. “I can’t blame you. The wet shirt? Oh, he’s just…perfect.”

“Right?” I asked enthusiastically. “Top three romance movies of all time – _Pride and Prejudice, Titanic,_ and _Dirty Dancing_. Hands down.”

“So true,” Kate agreed. We were in the middle of our rendition of “Time of My Life” when we pulled up to the Cheltenham track.

“Sorry to interrupt, Your Royal Highnesses, Miss DeLaSearle,” the driver apologized with a smirk as he opened the door.

“Do you see what we have to put up with?” William asked.  
The driver gave him a regretful expression. “With all due respect, sir, nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

Kate and I howled with laughter as we made our way to the royal box, me two steps behind, being snapped by photographers on the way. I actually didn’t mind these guys – they were official photographers hired by official publications, not random people who decided to make a living out of following me from my apartment to the tube station and selling the pictures of me hiding my face from their camera flashes to _News of the World_. Actually, News of the World had gotten exactly what was coming to them. After William and Harry had determined that they were getting their news stories a little _too_ accurately, they’d contacted their aides at Clarence House and asked for an investigation. It turned out that Rupert Murdoch and his cronies had tapped the cell phones of William, Harry, Sir Paul McCartney, Hugh Grant, and a handful of other British celebrities. Currently, he was on trial, in danger of losing his hugely amassed fortune, and had to shut down the tabloid that had published voicemails between Harry and William. Even I had been touched by the phone-hacking scandal. Last year, Kate and I had a brief misunderstanding (not necessarily an all out fight) about something that had happened with Harry, and she and William had spoken about it over the phone. The following week, _The Duchess vs. The American!_ had been published.

Interestingly enough, Cheltenham was nothing like I’d imagined. There were _tons_ of people there, and everyone had been right – I would have felt practically naked if I’d been the only woman there with no fascinator. Everyone below, not in one of the boxes at the track, was huddled together, standing shoulder to shoulder. Harry’s family filled the royal box from wall to wall, and I was glad to see tons of his cousins there, including Zara Phillips, Princess Beatrice, and Princess Eugenie. (When Harry and I got married, I would have to bow to Bea and Eugenie as well. They, too, thought this was hilarious.) I greeted all of the Windsor girls with air kisses. When Harry’s mother had died, the monarchy had gone through a rough patch, with people saying that they were cold and out of touch. That hardly seemed to be the case with Harry’s generation.

“Is Peter here?” I asked Zara. Her older brother had two blonde baby girls, and they were both adorable. The older one, Savannah, was constantly chatting away to me about her ballet classes.

“He and Autumn are at the bar,” she told me. At my worried look she laughed and added, “They got a sitter for the girls!” We giggled and I asked where Zara’s husband, a professional rugby player, was today. “He had a match,” she waved a hand. Harry appeared by my side, handing me a flute of champagne. “What are we coming to, marrying all these commoners?”

Harry held his hands up. “Speak for yourself. I’m a single man.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘single,’” I pointed out with a tense laugh.  
“You would on a hospital form. Tax return. Job application,” Harry countered, taking a sip of his drink. It was made to look like a vodka tonic, but it was just tonic water with a red stirrer and a lime wedge. Even his family wasn’t in on the fact that Harry was sober for over a year. 

Zara looked from me to Harry and back again, looking very clearly uncomfortable at our tension. Probably to try and break it, she asked, “And when have _you_ ever filled out a job application?”

Before long, Harry’s gran signaled the start of the races and the horses were let out of the gate. Harry and I wove through his pen of relatives to get a spot up front on the open deck of the box. It was hard to see in back, what with all the fascinators. After a couple of races, Beatrice turned to me. “Hey Rox. Fancy a wager?”

Slowly, I looked from her, to Eugenie, to Harry. “Is…is that allowed?”

Chuckling, Harry confirmed, “Yes, of course. I’ll take you to Ireland sometime, they’ve got bookies right in shops everywhere.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Probably to feed their raging alcohol problem.”

I ignored this inflammatory remark. Harry hadn’t missed a chance to take shots at the Irish since I’d broken up with my former boyfriend from Derry. Biting my bottom lip, I considered Bea’s offer. “How much?”

Beatrice checked inside her purse. “A fiver.”

“Okay!” Turning to Harry, I bragged, “Spice! I’m gonna gamble!”

He rolled his eyes and told me how it worked. We had to register our bets with a man who had a different official job title but was, for all intents and purposes, a bookie. I was betting on Looney Rooney to win it, while Beatrice bet against me with On The Double. “Rox, are you sure? The poor thing has got, ‘Looney’ in its name.”

“I’m sure!”

“And it’s five pounds you’re betting?” the clerk asked, writing it down in the ledger and looking bored with our meager bet. Beatrice and I nodded and then pushed back to the front to watch our race.

After the gun went off, the horses were let out of the gate. Things did not look good for Looney Rooney, who lagged in fifth. On the Double, on the other hand, rounded the inside curve to easily slide into first place. After one lap around the track, Looney had passed a horse to make fourth place, but there were still two more laps to go. “Come on!” I shouted, jumping in the air as the steeds raced by. Their hooves pounded on the track, kicking up dirt and sand behind them. The jockeys flung forward, riding them high on their necks, whacking them with riding crops. “Come on, Looney!” I gasped as they rounded one side of the oval, Looney passing the third-place horse. As they cantered along the long side of the ring, the second-place horse fell back, and Looney Rooney gained several feet. I squeezed Harry’s hands, jumping wildly around, unsure of how I was staying on my heels. “Come on! Come on Rooney!” He was _right_ on On the Double's tail, and they were getting closer, and they were neck and neck, and –  
“Looney Rooney wins in a photo finish!”  
I practically screamed, earning a sneer from Camilla. “I won!” I shouted, throwing my arms around Harry’s neck. “I won! My horse won!”

“Congratulations!” Harry laughed, kissing my forehead.

Reluctantly, Beatrice handed over her five-pound note. “Best out of three?” she offered.

“No way! That’s all the good luck I’ll get for years,” I assured her, turning around and planting a kiss on Harry’s mouth. “Can you believe it?”

“Of course I can!” Harry squeezed my hand. “Of course I do.”


	80. Surrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry had been away with the Blues & Royals for two weeks, and since I had class Saturday and Monday mornings, we only got to spend some of the weekend together before we had to go back to London, and back to the real world. “This is depressing,” I pouted at him, taking off a fake pearl earring. When we’d gotten back from the races, I’d changed into a pair of jeans, trainers, and Harry’s old Sandhurst sweatshirt. He was wearing an almost identical outfit, only he had on a red Arsenal track jacket. While I pulled my black hair up into a messy bun, Harry kissed my neck. “Stop that.”

“Why?” he asked, nibbling my earlobe.

“Because I’m depressed.”

“About?”

“About leaving today. I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.” I turned and wrapped my arms around Harry’s waist. The first year I’d known him had been full of ups and downs; unflattering paparazzi shots, anxiety over the nature of our relationship, fear of such public exposure, and, finally, a break up over my inability to juggle being a royal girlfriend _and_ a Royal Ballet student, and the fact that Harry was going through a serious substance abuse problem. The year after that had been spent almost entirely apart. Harry was working on his recovery and I was living my life, even some of that time with a new boyfriend. Finally, however, Harry and I had seemed to both land in the right place at the right time. When we’d gotten back together, we’d mutually agreed that we were in this for the long haull, so I knew that we had all the time in the world, but I still wanted to drink up every ounce of time I spent with him.

Harry kissed the top of my head. “Well, we’re actually not going right back to the city.”

Blinking up at him, I asked, “We’re not?”

“We’re popping into a place in Surrey. Will and Kate are looking at a house there and they want to show us.”

“Ooh, cool,” I cooed. If Will and Kate were buying a new house it was highly likely that Harry and I would be spending a lot of time there, which was probably why they wanted us to see it. Plus, I didn’t mind looking at fancy new real estate and spending more time with some of my favorite people on the planet.

Harry and I followed Will and Kate’s Ranger Rover out of Windsor. “Why do they need a new house?” I asked. For the past two years, the Cambridges had divided their time between KP and their royal duties, and a house in Wales and a quiet, private life. They’d only just given up the home in Angelsey, so it seemed like odd timing to immediately buy up another house.

“I suppose they want a refuge from the city. You know, like how Papa has Highgrove,” he pointed out as an example. 

“Well then why didn’t they just keep the Angelsey house?” I asked curiously, flipping through the Cosmo I’d bought on the train yesterday. 

“That would be quite a long commute,” he acknowledged. “Any more questions, Detective Fox?” Smirking, I told him I was done investigating for the time being and went back to my magazine.

Two hours into the three-hour drive back to London, we were pulling into the gravel driveway of a cute house with a grey stone face. I knew that it was probably huge and expensive, but it didn’t look overwhelming or anything. The lower windows had flower boxes in them, adding a pop of color against the grey and making the place look quaint. William and Kate parked their black SUV in the driveway outside the two-door garage and Harry parked behind them. When we got out of the car, we were greeted by Harry’s friend, Piers.

“Hey guys!” he waved to us, shaking hands with the princes and giving Kate and I kisses on the cheek.

“Hey Piers, I didn’t know you were doing this deal.” Piers was a real estate agent for some high profile people in London, and some not-so-high-profile people who just happened to have a ridiculous amount of money. It made sense that Will and Kate would use Piers. He was probably the only realtor they could trust. “So let’s see the new digs!”

Piers unlocked the cream-colored front door to reveal a comfy, cozy home. “Welcome to the humble abode,” he said as we walked in. It definitely wasn’t the mini-castle I’d been expecting, rather it was just as comforting as the tiny house I’d grown up in in New Jersey. “It actually used to be two separate properties, a coach house and stables for Mickleham Hall.”  
“How old is it?” I asked.

“It was built in 1878. So for England it’s practically brand new,” Piers joked. “These two rooms are can be used as offices, a library, a sitting room, whatever you want, really.” The room was two, split in the middle by a quaint little fireplace. These rooms would probably be used as Will and Kate’s offices for their official royal stuff. There was an open doorway on either side of the room. Piers led us through the one on the left first, which led to a narrow hallway. He opened three doors and told us, “We’ve got two double bedrooms and a single down here. Again, these can obviously be used as bedrooms, offices, what have you.”

“Seems like a lot of bedrooms, just for the two of you,” I noted as Piers crossed the room to the open doorway on the other side. As an afterthought, I considered the possibility that they were thinking about expanding their little family.

William broke into my hypothesis. “Well, you know us, always having people over.”

“That’s true. One of these will be our room,” I smirked at Harry. He gave me thin-lipped smile in return, which seemed odd, but I kept following Piers.

“Here’s where the real fun starts. This used to be the carriage room,” he told us as we crossed over into the other room. I stopped in my tracks and looked up at the vaulted ceiling in awe. “To the left you’ll find another sitting room, with a spacious fireplace.” The floors were stone tiles and the fireplace was exposed brick. It was _huge_ ; the perfect sort of fireplace to curl up next to in the wintertime with a good book, some dark chocolate, and a glass of red wine. “To the right you’ll see the kitchen.” There was a large empty space for a dining room, a kitchen with sand-colored granite and a wrap around bar with dark wood paneling. “And over there in the corner you’ll see the lift that goes downstairs to the wine cellar, home theater, spa, and Jacuzzi.”

“Oh, just add that in there,” I joked, pretending like having a home spa and movie theater was just another walk in the park. Harry gave my hand a squeeze.

Piers led us up the wide oak staircase in the room with the huge fireplace. The stairs led up to a mezzanine galleried area that Piers said made an excellent place to hang out with friends. I had been starting to worry about where all of Kate’s clothes would fit when Piers showed us into the master bedroom. It had a wide bay window on the far wall that looked out into a park and, not to worry, an entire dressing hall. The master bath came equipped with an audio system, probably so that you could enjoy some relaxing Yanni softly while you used the Jacuzzi. “ _Two_ Jacuzzis?” I asked, impressed. “Well, that’s just completely necessary.”

“Right,” Piers agreed. “Well, I’ll let you all talk it over.”

The four of us followed him back down to the open foyer and Piers told us he’d be outside. When the front door was shut, I turned to the Cambridges. “I know it’s a huge house, but it’s surprisingly cozy.”  
“Isn’t it?” Kate agreed.

I nodded. “And it comes with a dressing hall, which you _strongly_ need.”

“Exactly,” she smirked.

"Plus, it has rooms for us and B and Pippa. So I’d say it’s pretty much perfect,” I smiled at them. “Have you put in an offer?”

Will and Kate looked at each other. They did that mind-reading thing they always did before turning to Harry. Rubbing circles on my back, he began, “Well, we’ve already put in an offer, and it’s been accepted.”

“Oh, are you in on this?” I asked him. Harry didn’t yet have any properties of his own, and it was sort of odd that, for his first one, he was going in with the Cambridges.

“Um…yeah,” he confirmed. “See, the thing is, we were kind of hoping that we could all move in here. The four of us.”

The room was completely silent. I blinked stupidly at the three royals, struck deaf, dumb, and blind for several seconds. After far too many long, quiet moments I finally asked, “Why on _earth_ would we do that?”

“Thanks a lot, Roxy,” William scoffed.

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean you guys just moved into your apartment at KP.” It was called an “apartment,” but it had twelve bedrooms. Kate had spent a _lot_ of time (and, one could confidently presume, money) renovating the apartment that had once been inhabited by Princess Margaret, the Queen’s sister. 

“Well yeah, and we’ll still be there loads, but we wanted another place like our Angelsey house, where we could be private and outside of the city,” Kate explained. This actually made a lot of sense to me. William had managed to do something Harry never had, which was to compartmentalize his entire life. There was Public William, all smiles, formally dressed, outgoing, friendly, ready to shake a hand, hold a baby, and never displayed more PDA than a hand on the small of his wife’s back. Private William was _totally_ different. Private William was prone to telling off his annoying little brother, and he certainly didn’t mind letting me know when he thought I’d made a bad decision. Private William was fiercely protective and loyal to everyone he loved, and he was never too busy to skip giving his wife a good morning kiss, a tight hug, and to brew her tea in the morning. You would never know what Public William was thinking or feeling at any given moment – he always seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world other than whatever charity function he was attending. With Private William, you’d know when he was angry and, thankfully more often, when he wasn’t. So it did make at least a little bit of sense that they would want an official place and a private home. 

I was still, however, very confused as to why they wanted me in it. “Guys…you’re still newlyweds. What if you want to have a baby?”

Kate laughed. “Is there something you know that we don’t?” I opened my mouth to point out that they’d been married for a year and a half, and that the people and the Queen were getting impatient. Kate waved a hand. “We’ll cross that bassinet when we come to it.”

That didn’t seem very comforting. What was to stop them from "crossing that bassinet" two months from now? “There’s no way I could afford this place.” It had two Jacuzzis!  
“Actually,” Harry argued, “it’s just about the same as your apartment with Bianca.”

“That’s impossible!” _Two_ Jacuzzis!

“It’s not. We’re far enough outside the city that it evens out,” William explained.

Oh, wait a minute, Harry had given me another reason. “I already live with B.”

“I’m _sure_ she’d understand,” Harry insisted, and, annoyingly, he was right.

My mouth flapped open and closed a few times. I was out of excuses, completely out of reasons why I shouldn’t move in. Letting out a sigh, I looked to the Cambridges. “Guys, are you _sure_ you want to do this? To move in with your younger brother and his girlfriend?”

They nodded. “It’ll be just like when we lived with our friends at uni,” Kate gushed. “So much fun!”

“I think it will be good for you, Roxanna,” William pointed out. “Out of the city you’ll be out of the public eye more. In a small town like this, you’ll be much safer and protected.” Safety from the public eye was probably the most important requirement of a royal life, as far as the Wales brothers were concerned. It made sense, after what had happened to Princess Diana.

“But do you _want_ to?” I asked. The question wasn’t “Is it a good idea?” or “Will it be safer?” The question was, did they _want_ to.

William gave me a stern look in the eye. “Roxanna, we wouldn’t ask if we didn’t want to.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Okay. I…I hear that.” According to Bianca and Dr. R, in conversations such as these it was important to let the other person know they’d been heard. “Can I just talk to Harry for a minute?”

“Sure,” they agreed, heading outside to a wide backyard, complete with a sunny plotted garden.

When the door clicked closed, I looked up at him. “Harry, you have got to stop springing these surprises on me.” It wasn’t the first time Harry had thrust me into something like this.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled, “I thought it would be romantic.”

My heart tugged and I immediately felt guilty. “It’s romantic when it’s dinner on top of the Eiffel Tower.” It wasn’t an obscure reference, he’d actually done that once. “It’s awkward when you’re asking me to make this huge decision in front of your brother and sister-in-law, and you _know_ how I am about this stuff.”

“No,” Harry slowly shook his head. “I know how you were. I just figured we’ve talked about it, we know where this relationship is going. What’s the point in saying no to everything anymore?”

“Just because we’ve vaguely discussed our future doesn’t mean I’m just going to start accepting hand-outs from you.”  
“There is no hand-out. Wills and I have bought this house. We’re going to move in here, and the three of us thought it would be strange if you were left out. We knew you’d act all weird about it, so we showed you the house before we asked.” Harry was obviously getting annoyed explaining this to me.

“Okay, I hear all of that,” I repeated, "but it doesn’t change the fact that it’ll look like my boyfriend bought me a house.”

“So we’ll release the financial reports to show that you pay rent.”

“That’s not the point.”

“So then what _is_ the point? Because this was supposed to be a romantic surprise, you know, _good_ news, and you’re turning it into a fight.”

“No, it’s not…I don’t mean to fight,” I shook my head. Before proceeding, I took a deep breath, and thought hard about what I wanted to say. As reluctant as I'd been to see Dr. R at first, I had to admit that he'd taught me some good tools. “Now that we’ve decided some things about our future, it’s really important for me to think about my public image. I’m afraid that people will start calling me a gold-digger, and after they get bored with that, there will be marriage rumors.”

“They’ll stop once you’re out of the spotlight. That’s the whole point.”

“Okay, so maybe that problem is solved, but…and _please_ don’t take this the wrong way, but we _just_ got back together,” I pointed out. When Harry didn’t say anything, I continued. “I just can’t help but wonder if this is what’s best for your sobriety and what’s best for us as a couple.”  
Finally, Harry took a deep breath and placed his hands on my shoulders, lightly massaging them. “I want you out of London and away from the press. That’s the most important reason I want you here. As for my sobriety, I never would have done something like this without running it by Dr. R first. He fully approves. In fact, he’s even in support of it because he thinks it will be easier for me to get to meetings out of the eye of the press. As far as our relationship is concerned, we’ve made this commitment, and yes, moving in will be more serious, but we’re more serious now,” he pointed out.

After considering all of this, I closed my eyes. Harry knew what this meant. He had this way of telling me our future like a novel. Left to my own crazy thoughts, I could only envision all of the things that could go wrong with our relationship or my entire life in general. Harry, on the other hand, would easily dictate to me everything that we had to look forward to. Planting a kiss on my forehead, Harry murmured the future into my hair. “We’ll all live together, all four of us. We’ll have Sunday brunches together every weekend. During the week, you’ll come home after a long day at school and we’ll have happy hour. On Saturday nights, Pippa and B will come over. And every night we’ll go to bed together, and every morning we’ll wake up together.”

The last part alone was enough to convince me. With a sigh, my eyes fluttered open. “Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it.”

Harry squeezed his arms around me, lifting me several inches off the floor and swinging me around and softly uttering my favorite thing to hear him say. "My darling girl, you've made me so happy." After he’d pressed a kiss against my mouth, he placed me back on my feet and opened the door to tell Will and Kate that I’d agreed.  
“Fab!” Kate clapped her hands together.

“Well that’s good to hear, because otherwise this would have been a waste,” William noted, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. Kate and I giggled excitedly as the champagne fizzed in our flutes. “To us, and our new home,” William wrapped an arm around Kate’s shoulders. 

Harry, of course, abstained from the champagne, but clinked his glass together with ours and kissed my temple, murmuring, “To our new home.” The goose bumps crawled up my neck and I shivered, blushing. Okay, I’d definitely made the right decision.

Once we’d confirmed everything with Piers, we all headed back into London. Will and Kate went back to KP and Harry dropped me off in front of the apartment. “Have you thought of what you’ll say to Bianca?”

I winced. My best friend was four months out of a three-month hospital stay after a severe battle with anorexia. I wasn’t sure that it was a good time to abandon her. “No. What do you think I should say?”

Harry shrugged. “Tell her you love her and want her recovery to go well, and that it will help if you’re not around as much so she can have more privacy.”

This was a good point. Last year, Rupert Murdoch had also illegally gotten his hands on the information regarding Bianca and her illness. Since she palled around with royals and friends-of-royals, that was the entertainment news during the slow weeks. “I guess that’s true…”

Reaching out, Harry gave my knee a reassuring squeeze. “You know she’ll be happy for you,” he reminded. This was also true. Bianca had never been anything but thrilled for me when I got good news. There had only been a few times when she either hadn’t cared or resented it, but that had been when she was sick. I just didn’t want her to feel like I was leaving her behind.

Bianca, however, would be a piece of cake compared to the other person I knew I’d have to tell. “I’m gonna have to say something to Madam.”

“I guess that’s true,” Harry nodded slowly.

Madam Fugere, the headmistress and principal instructor at RBA, had never been the biggest fan of my relationship with Harry. When push came to shove, she was always on my side, and she’d never been hard on me when I truly didn’t deserve it. I was sure that it would go over a lot better if she heard this news from me rather than from _The Mirror_. I didn’t even want to imagine that talk.  
“One step at a time,” Harry reminded me, using the AA motto. “Tell Bianca first. She’s more important, anyway. Then we’ll figure out what to say to Madam.”

I smiled at him. He was the most supportive and patient boyfriend ever. “Okay. I love you,” I gave him a peck on the mouth. We’d been idling on the curb outside my apartment, and when we kissed there was the bright flash of a camera. There were usually always one or two paparazzi waiting for me outside, as close as they could legally get to my front door, or waiting for me to walk by the local coffee shop. They were like an insect infestation – where there was one, there would soon be more. By the time I opened the car door, several more had congregated in the street, blocking the path to my front door.

“Hey! Get the fuck out of the way,” Harry called to a photographer who was far too close to me. Jumping on the opportunity to snap an angry Prince Harry, the photographer turned the lens on him. By now, more paparazzi were in the street, blocking Harry in. He leaned on the horn, but it was to no avail. Finally, he put the car in park and got out, wrapping an arm around me and helping me push my way to the front door. “This is _exactly_ what I mean,” he muttered about the photographers. In Surrey, this wouldn’t happen. More than once, when Harry and William had joined small communities like that, the locals got protective of them and left well enough alone. They also encouraged people who were spotted with telephoto lenses to get the hell out of dodge. When I got inside, Harry was still appealing to the paparazzi to let him pull away from the curb. I shut the door with a sigh, looking forward to something I’d gone far too long without – privacy.


	81. A Big Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Since Bianca had quit RBA, she’d enrolled in university and decided that she wanted to go for a degree she could use to eventually help other women who suffered from eating disorders. She actually really enjoyed it and was way too happy than anyone should reasonably be to be taking classes and studying for exams. When I’d made it back inside after Harry and I had fought our way through the photographers, B was sitting on the couch, studying out of her nutrition textbook. “One day, we’re going to be able to come in our front door without looking like we’ve just outrun Jack the Ripper,” she wistfully hoped.

“One day,” I wished with her.

“So how was it?” she asked.

“Fun. I bet Bea five quid and won.”

Bianca snickered. “You high roller, you!”

I knew that I should have just told her right then and there, but I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Also, I was a coward, as evidenced by the fact that I hadn’t confronted Bianca on her eating disorder until it was far too late to stop her quick deterioration. I also hadn’t dealt with Harry’s addiction until he’d been lying close to death on the bathroom floor. To be fair, that time I hadn’t really known how bad it was, but the point was that I’d learned not to let things go until it was too late. So I was going to tell B, really, I was…just not right now.

She followed me upstairs and sat on my bed as I unpacked. “I saw that you wore a fascinator. It was cute! I don’t know why you don’t wear them more often.”

“Because I think I look ridiculous. B, there were literally feathers sticking out of my head,” I reminded her.

Laughing, she insisted, “That’s what fascinators _are_. All the other girls were wearing them.”

“We just don’t do them in America,” I offered up by way of excuse.

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Check again, sweetheart. Since the Royal Wedding, they’re _obsessed_ with Will and Kate over there. Their tabloids are way nicer to them than us, and you’re practically their golden child.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s true, but I haven’t been home in a while,” I noted. “Next time I go back, I’ll take a poll and see if fascinators are catching on.” I was about as certain that fascinators were catching on as I was theat the press in the States were kind to me, which was not at all. To be honest, I had no real idea of how the press at home saw me. The British media was hard enough to handle on it’s own. I didn’t need to be stressing over a whole other country.

***

Ever since Bianca have gotten out of the hospital, she’d been following an eating plan (because we couldn’t use the word “diet”) that she was pretty intense about following. At first it had been important for her to gain back the weight she’d lost when she was sick in a safe and healthy way. Now she was just trying to eat without being terrified by what she was putting into her mouth. Her diet was varied and super healthy – fruits, veggies, lean protein. The downside of it was that she didn’t keep things like, say, cupcakes in the house. Out of respect for her recovery, I didn’t keep anything like that around, either. Our house was completely devoid of any sweets or salty, fatty snacks. This was pretty unfortunate, as lately all I wanted was pizza and cupcakes and potato chips and ice cream. Okay, I may have been stress eating, which was a _huge_ no-no in Bianca’s book.

So, whenever I wanted something dense in calories (even though in England everything on the labels told you how much “energy” a product had, which I _loved_ ), I had to make a trip to a bakery or café or something. On Monday I bought a bag of jelly rings, on Tuesday I ate three Yorkie bars, on Wednesday I had two bags of chips, and on Thursday morning I got a blueberry muffin with my vanilla latte at Starbucks. I was on my way to the tube when Harry called. With a mouthful of muffin, I answered, “Hewwo?”

“Stress eating?” he smirked. 

Gulping down muffin with a swig of hot latte, I confirmed sheepishly, “Yes. Don’t judge me.”

Harry chuckled. “So I’m guessing you haven’t told B yet.”

“Not _exactly_.”

“Fox!” Harry groaned. “We have to move on the 31st!”

“I know, I know! Just…give me a day…or two.”

I could _hear_ Harry roll his eyes on the other end of the line. “And don’t forget you have to tell your mum and Grace. They’ll be mad if they hear about it from _Hello!_ “

A few months ago, Grace had found out that Harry and I had gotten back together from TMZ, and to say she’d been pissed about it was a huge understatement. In all fairness, I had every intention of telling her, TMZ just got there first. “At least I can tell them over the phone,” I muttered. It would be easier than having to tell Madam face-to-face.

***

“Hey Mom. What’re you doing?” I wanted to make sure she wasn’t behind the wheel or holding a sharp object when I told her this.

“Nothing, I just got home. The kids were a handful today.” My mom was a kindergarten teacher back home in Jersey and I had _no_ idea why. When she wasn’t exhausted, she was sick, but apparently she loved doing it or something.

Great, so I’d be telling her that I was moving in with my boyfriend with no plans to marry any time soon after she’d had a long day at work. Well…no time like the present. I would have stalled more, but I was using telling her and Grace as test runs for telling Madam and Bianca. “Oh. That’s…too bad.”

“What is it, Roxanna Nicole?”

“Huh?”

“You’re using the voice you use when you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. Out with it.”

_Damn._ “Okay well, actually, I think you might like this plan.” When Harry and I had first started dating, my mom had been extremely concerned about the paparazzi. It didn’t matter how many facts were revealed – the drunk driver, the lack of seatbelts; the world, including her sons, and my mother, would always blame the paparazzi for Princess Diana’s death. Any mother would have been worried about the privacy of their child after that, even if they _hadn’t_ watched the funeral procession on a loop, emptying tissue box after tissue box, like my mom had. “Well…Harry and Will and Kate and I decided that it would be fun to move out of London.”

My mom was quiet. Slowly, she finally acknowledged, “Okay.”

I took this as a good sign. “So we found a house in Surrey, and we’re going to move in at the end of the month.”

I could tell that my mom was holding her breath. “That’s pretty huge news, Rox. I mean, that’s a big step. Are you sure you guys are ready for this? You only just got back together.”

“I know that,” I agreed with her, “but we’ve talked about it and pretty much decided that we’ll both spend a couple of years working on our careers and then…you know.”

As my mother corrected me, I could hear thre panic rising in her voice. “No, I don’t know. I have no idea. You’ve apparently been busy making huge life decisions all on your own.”

“Ma, calm down. We’re not getting engaged next week. We just both know that this is what we want.”

“It’s what you want _right now_. What happens in five years when what you want is to take an offer to dance in Paris or Moscow?”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to unclench my jaw as I reminded her, “I can’t tell the future, Ma.”

“But you can plan that you and Harry are getting married?”

“I can say that as we stand right now, I’m not in Paris or Moscow. As we stand right now, I’m here, and Harry and I want to move in together, because as we stand right now, we see a future together.” Sensing that my mom wasn’t satisfied, I offered up more reasoning. I couldn’t fault her for being reluctant - her twenty-year-old daughter was going to move in with her boyfriend who lived a completely foreign life, on another continent. "Look, even if you think I’m being naive about Harry, there are other reasons to move out of London.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Harry and William think it’ll be a good way for me to get away from the cameras.”

“Well I can’t argue with that,” she muttered.

I frowned. “Are you arguing with the rest of it?”

“Not _arguing_. This is just a big step and I want you to understand that. What happens at the end of the year when you get offers from other places?”

“Then we’ll deal with it, Mom. One day at a time.” I didn't bother pointing out to her that the harsh reality of the matter was that I might not get offers from other places. I might not even get an offer from the Royal Ballet Company, and that was after they'd spent three years letting me grow on their farm team. So I guess at least there was an upside to not being employed in the near future - I wouldn't have to choose between Harry and my career. At present, it didn't really seem like that great of an upside...  
“Did you just use the A.A. motto on your relationship?” my mother asked incredulously.

_Shit._ Grace knew about Harry’s struggle with addiction, but my mom didn’t, and if she was reacting unfavorably to us moving in together _now_ , I wasn’t anxious to tell her that Harry was also a recovering addict. “Uh… yeah. I mean, it’s still a good phrase.”

“Well, it sounds like you put a lot of thought into this and you know what you want to do. So, tell me about this house.”

I let out a relieved sigh. That had pretty much gone as well as possible, and if my mom was okay with it, albeit a bit reluctantly, I didn’t see why Madam shouldn’t be. I knew, though, that even if that was logical and rational, it didn’t necessarily mean things would work out that way. Before I started worrying about that, I was going to have to tell Grace to avoid another TMZ incident, so I called her when I was off the phone with my mom. “Hey Rock, what’s up?”

“Hey. I just wanted to call you to let you know before you found out from somewhere else.”

“Oh, Jesus. Whatever this is, it’ll have to do with Harry.”

I smirked. “You’re not wrong. We decided to move in together in a house in Surrey with Will and Kate.”

“Rock! That’s such a big step!” she excitedly exclaimed. “Wait a minute, Will and Kate don’t mind?”

“I guess not. We mostly want to get out of the city. The guys think that the press will be less intense if we move out to Surrey.”

“Surrey! It sounds quaint! What’s the house like? Is it awesome?”

“Grace. There are _two_ Jacuzzis.”

***

“And it was not your fault, but mine! And it was your heart on the line! I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I my dear!” I sang ( _really_ loudly and _really_ off key) along with Mumford  & Sons as I came in the house from a run.  
While I chugged from a bottle of water, Bianca looked up at me from where she was studying at the kitchen table. “Remember when you used to hate running?”

“Those were the good ol’ days,” I sighed. Last year, around the time Harry was going through the beginning stages of rehab, I’d taken up running as a way to pound out my stress on the paths of Kensington Gardens. Now, I figured that if I was going to stress eat, it was probably a good idea for me to stress run, too. 

Bianca chuckled and headed upstairs. I heard the water run in the shower and hopped over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions, and flicked on the TV. “St. James Palace has announced that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge along with Prince Harry have purchased a home in Surrey and will be moving in at the end of the month. Prince Harry’s girlfriend, Roxanna DeLaSearle, will also be moving in, with palace officials insisting that she will be paying rent. The couples are making this move to gain more privacy during Miss DeLaSearle’s final year at the Royal Ballet Academy, and they ask for the public to respect this wish at their new residence.”

_Aw, shit._ Now I’d _have_ to tell B immediately, and hope against hope that Madam hadn’t heard about this. When I heard the shower turn off, I jogged up the stairs and knocked on her door. “Hey, can I come in?”

“Only if you wanna see my bare ass,” she answered. I heard her shuffling around and when she opened the door she was wearing a bathrobe. Bianca had been in recovery for a while now, but as per doctor’s orders she had to gain weight in a gradual and healthy way. I couldn’t count every single one of her ribs and her elbows didn’t look like they could stab someone, but she still wasn’t _completely_ back to normal. Even so, I was always glad to see her progress. “What’s up?”

When she opened her bedroom door wider, I came in and sat down on her bed. The framed pictures of famous ballerinas had been removed and replaced by vintage French advertisements or prints of well-known paintings. I missed Bianca being in class with me. Now that she was gone, I pretty much had no friends at school, which got really awkward when we had to do group projects or work in pairs. It wasn’t that I had anything against the other girls, it was just hard to start up new friendships because I didn’t want anyone selling stories or tipping off tabloids. This fear wasn’t unfounded – a handful of my classmates had already done this. “So…I have something to tell you.” 

“Oh, God. What is it?”

“Don’t worry. There’s no drug abuse, no break ups,” I assured her.

She raised an eyebrow and gave me a suspicious look. “Any engagements?”

“No! Why does everybody have wedding fever all of a sudden?”

Bianca shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t you guys sort of talked about that?”

“We have made a _vague outline_ ,” I repeated, growing impatient with all this marriage talk. “I’m twenty-years-old! I can’t even legally have a drink in the States.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing that you live here,” B smirked. “So what is it then?”

Taking a deep breath, I started, “Okay, first of all, if you feel uncomfortable with _any_ of this then you just say the word and I won’t do it. Okay?”

“Sure,” Bianca nodded slowly.

I explained about the Surrey house in the same gradual way I’d explained it to my mom. “Harry and I actually think it’ll be good because the press won’t be camped outside the house, and you can focus on your recovery without worrying about your picture being taken.”  
Bianca blinked a few times. “Wait a minute…so…Harry asked you to move in with him?” I nodded. “And you’re doing it?”

“ _Not_ if you don’t want me to, and I would _totally_ understand if you didn’t – “

I was interrupted when Bianca let out a shriek and threw her arms around me. “Oh my God! Roxy! That’s fantastic!”

“It…it is?”

“Yes! Of course! This is _such_ a big step! I’m so happy for you! Just think – this time last year, you were _completely_ devastated. You were sure you and Harry were done for good and that he was dating Cressida Bonas.”

“Yeah, thanks B, I remember,” I said tersely as a thousand pounds disappeared from my shoulders. I reached out and gave B’s hand a squeeze. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel abandoned.”

Bianca waved a hand. “ _Don’t_ worry about it. I was thinking about moving anyway, to be closer to school.”

“How’s it going?”

“Uni? It’s going well. A total change from RBA, but that’s exactly what I wanted. People ask about you all the time,” she confessed.

“What do you say?”

“That you’re a total bitch and I’m only seen out with you because you pay me to make it look like you have friends.”

“Aw, B. You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”

***

Now that Bianca was taken care of, I started packing up stuff in the apartment. This was a slow process, though. I’d lived with Bianca for more than two years. There were countless nights we’d stayed up too late, cracking each other up until our stomachs hurt, and then there were other nights that we comforted each other with tea and tissues. There were Spice Girls dance parties, _Sex and the City_ marathons, and _Steel Magnolia_ nights when we were in dire need of a good cry. I was excited to move in with Kate and Will and my amazing, handsome boyfriend, but my heart tugged at the thought of leaving B. “Roxy, don’t,” she pleaded when I got teary packing up a picture of us from our first year. “The Surrey house is going to be so much fun!”

“I know,” I wiped my eyes, "but I’ve lived with you for two years, and now I’m moving in with two smelly boys.”

Bianca laughed. “You know Kate won’t let them get too smelly.”

I was still sniffling when my phone rang. “Hey Pippa.”

As one of my closest friends for the past two years, Pippa could tell that I was getting weepy. “Aw, are you sad to be leaving B?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“Okay, well then I think you’ll like my idea. We go to your place, order a pizza, have some beer, and help you pack up. Don’t worry, I’ve already made Pippa’s Packing Playlist.” Leave it to Pippa to turn moving into a party.

The day before Pippa’s Packing Party, I was waiting outside Madam’s office, half nervous, half humiliated. This was another not-normal aspect of dating Harry; I had to tell Madam something that was absolutely none of her business, otherwise she’d be pissed. When she finally called me in, she was busy looking over some paperwork. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I got it – I wasn’t high on her priority list. Finally, she took her glasses off and looked up at me. “Yes?”

I took a deep breath and forced out a smile. “Thanks for making time for me, Madam.” She just raised an eyebrow. “I just wanted to tell you before you heard it from somewhere else. Um…a couple of weeks ago I decided to move in with some friends, including Harry.”

Madam glanced at the paperwork spread across her desk. “And why did you decide to tell me this?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. “Well, I didn’t want you to hear it from somewhere else and question my commitment to school.” I actually thought that this was all pretty big of me. I bit back the urge to snap at Madam that, even if I wasn’t going to move in with the royals, I probably would have moved somewhere else anyway, since Bianca wanted a place closer to her university, which she was attending because RBA had not only ignored, but practically encouraged her raging eating disorder. 

“ _Should_ I be questioning your commitment?” Madam asked, crossing her arms over her desk and leaning forward.

Hadn’t I just told her the answer to that question? “No,” I said slowly. “I know that it’s been called into question in the past and I just wanted to clear up any confusion.” Madam said nothing for so long that I got awkward and uncomfortable, which was probably her intention. “So…that’s it.”

She just sat back in her chair and lifted up a list of girls in the first year, running her eyes down it. “Then you may go.”

Later that night, as Pippa, B, the royals and I were packing up my bedroom, I angrily chucked hangers into a cardboard box after relaying the encounter to them. “As if it wasn’t humiliating enough that I had to go in there and tell her something that is _none_ of her business in the first place!”

“Well, it is _some_ of her business,” William offered reluctantly, lifting a box full of heavy books and placing it in a corner, out of the way.

Cupping my hand around my ear, I asked, “Come again?”

Kate chuckled at my dramatics. “Well, Madam is a citizen of Britain, and she pays taxes, which is how we all get paid. So her money will be paying for the house. So, it sort of _is_ her business.”

“Oh, come on!” I threw my hands up. “That’s like saying that anyone who’s ever bought a Madonna album is entitled to information about her sex life!”

Pippa frowned. “Doesn’t Madonna put all of the information about her sex life _on_ her albums?”

Chuckling, Harry pointed out, “Plenty of people agree with that logic, which is why tabloids even exist.”

I let out a huff and crossed my arms. “Whose side are you on here, anyway?”

Harry pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. “I’m on your side. Don’t worry, in two weeks we’ll be moved and no one will care.”

“It’s true. There were like, two pictures of us in Angelsey,” Kate reminded me, and it was extremely comforting.

***

On the morning of the 31st, I gave Bianca a tearful hug before the moving truck pulled away. “Come on, Rox! We’ll still see each other all the time!” she insisted, but she was getting emotional as well.

“I know,” I sniffled. “You’re right.”

She held me by the shoulders and reminded me, “This is a good thing."  
With another big hug, I hopped into Harry’s Ranger Rover and we drove out to the Surrey house. Mine was the only stuff that was moving; Kate had put together the rest of the house with the help of an interior decorator. A few things from KP made the move, including an entire separate truck devoted to transporting Kate’s wardrobe. Harry and I had left my apartment at eight in the morning, and by seven o’clock that night everything still wasn’t unpacked. The movers unloaded the last of the stuff, and the four of us ordered take away, eating it straight out of the cartons because we hadn’t unpacked any plates. We passed around lo mein, General’s chicken, curry, and rice, sharing with each other and not bothering to use different forks. We made plans for the rest of the unpacking tomorrow and made a list of things we’d forgotten and would need to pick up. Exhausted, Harry and I headed to our bedroom on the first floor while Will and Kate headed upstairs. The bed wasn’t made up yet, so Harry helped me stretch the wine-red sheets across it before we showered off the sweat from the move and crawled into bed. With a heavy sigh, I rested my head on top of Harry’s chest. He gave me a tight squeeze and kissed the top of my head. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Other than exhausted?”

“Mhm.”

Pausing, I thought about this for a minute. “Well…I was sad to leave B. And I guess I still am. And it’s weird not to be living in the city. But I think this was a good choice. I think this really feels like home.”

“Good,” Harry sleepily breathed out, and we were both so exhausted from the move that we were out cold a beat later.

***

Kate kept talking about all of the work that needed to be done on the house: paint jobs, tiles replaced, insulation updated, but I was perfectly happy with it the way it was. How much more work could a house with a home spa need? It was absolutely wonderful to come in from a run and jump in the sauna. We actually didn’t use the Jacuzzis that much, just once when Pippa stopped by for a wine night. Most of our time at home was spent in the sitting room with the huge fireplace. The boys would build a fire while Kate and I opened wine and cut veggies for a hummus platter and the four of us would pow-wow about our days. These talks would turn into other discussions about books, movies, politics. Every night was spent hanging out with my best friends. My favorite nights were the ones when I came home late after getting in extra practice at school, and the three royals would be in the sitting room, dinner leftovers and a spot on the couch waiting for me. As Harry had predicted, there were plenty of times when B and Pippa came over for the weekend. 

The best part, though, was that Harry and I had fallen into routines. At night we’d change into pajamas, brush our teeth, get into bed, read for as long as we could without getting distracted, tear off the pajamas we’d just put on, and finally doze off into that wonderful post-sex slumber. In the mornings we’d wake up, Harry would make me coffee while I showered, and when I came downstairs he’d place a plate of scrambled eggs and half a grapefruit on the table for my breakfast. We’d go over what we were doing that day before being briefed on the Cambridges’s schedules. Harry would drive me to the train station, where we’d go our separate ways with a peck on the mouth. I knew that most people would assume that I was on crack at the amount of happiness I got from these simple routines, but it was perfect. I loved falling asleep next to Harry and waking up by opening my eyes into his. Not to mention, that feeling like we never had enough time had completely dissolved. There was no more, “I have to get back to the apartment” for clothes, my toothbrush, to make sure Bianca knew I wasn’t dead. There was just Harry and I.

As for the boys’ predictions about increased privacy, they’d been 100% correct. A few pictures had surfaced on the internet of Kate or I at the local Tesco, but other than that, we were left alone. Some nights when no one felt like making dinner, we went to the local pub for trivia. Or when Will and Kate were at KP for the night, Harry and I had date night. There was never so much as a cell phone picture, and no paparazzi to speak of. The friendly owner of the pub that we were regulars at informed us that it wasn’t for a lack of trying on their parts. “Some bloke with a telephoto lens came up ‘ere yesterday, askin’ me if I knows Prince William. I says to ‘im I ain’t never ‘eard a no Prince William and he better get out and stop wastin’ me time.”

William chuckled. “Well, thank you for that.”

“Ain’t a problem,” the man, Bernie, assured us with a wave of his beefy, calloused hand. He’d long ago dropped “Your Royal Highness” from his discussions with the royals. “Don’t know why they’s comin’ up ‘ere like I ain’t got nuffink better to do then sell out me best customers.”

“They’re hoping you’ll sell them a story about me getting drunk and sloppy in here,” Harry assumed, probably correctly.

Bernie frowned. “Well they ain’t gettin’ nuffink outta me. Say, nows that you mention it, I never even seen you drink, not a drop. They sure got their stories wrong, don’t they?”

“All of the time, in our experience,” William agreed, and then changed the subject before Bernie could further question Harry’s lack of alcohol intake.

School was exactly the same as before, which was to say less than thrilling. The only friend I’d had other than Bianca was my pas de deux partner, Marcus, but we only saw each other during our pas de deux workshops. So basically I spent more of my time on campus like a friendless loser, which was even _weirder_ because in reality my best friends were the most famous couple since Romeo and Juliet. Now that I was living with them, it seemed like the other girls wanted to be around me even less than they had previously. I didn’t think they actually hated me or were being mean, they just genuinely didn’t know how to talk to me. They probably wanted to ask about Harry or the Cambridges, but knew that they shouldn’t. We could talk about school, but mostly I had nothing in common with these girls. The majority of them (Bianca included) came from British aristocracy, and I…well, I was probably the _exact_ opposite of that.

In mid-November we started our annual run of _The Nutcracker_ , which was the only thing that could have possibly made my life even better. I loved everything about the build-up to Christmastime. The shows required extra practice time and more hours spent at the studio, but I didn’t mind. Unlike previous years, I wasn’t stressed over any of it. Before, I’d had to work to fit academic classes, Harry, _and_ dance into my life. Now, the first of those problems were far less important in the third year than the previous two, the second thing was taken care of, and so the third was all I really needed to focus on. For once in my life, there was nothing going on. There were no surprise, unflattering paparazzi shots, no fake stories in the tabloids, no rumors about new girlfriends, no break-ups, no drug addictions, no fights with my best friend, no eating disorders. Everything was boring and quiet, _exactly_ the way I liked it.

I should have known it would all blow up in my face.


	82. Bombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Some of the best nights at the Surrey house were when I came out of the tube station and was making my way home. The winter wind bit at the tip of my nose and the bitter cold chilled my cheeks. When I could no longer feel my toes or fingers and was resenting the white puffs of air appearing in front of my face, I would look up and see the lights on in our house. When I saw those lights on, I knew that warmth was just a few steps away. We’d been in the house for a couple of weeks when I had one of those nights. Coming in through the garage entrance, I shook my gloves off and unwrapped my scarf before spotting Kate at the kitchen stove with an apron around her waist, because she was actually British June Cleaver. “Oh, hey Rox. We were just watching the news. They’re saying you shouldn’t have bet at Cheltenham.”

Placing my dance bag on the floor, I joined Harry and William in the second sitting room where the TV was on the entertainment channel, but quietly. William was stretched out in an armchair, holding a beer in one hand, still in the suit pants he’d worn to their charity event that day, and a white cotton t-shirt. He’d obviously had a rough day at work. Harry had changed into his regular clothes and was on his ipad. When I walked into the room he clicked over from an e-mail he’d been reading to a BBC article on the war in Afghanistan. I probably should have been concerned that he was sending e-mails to some busty blonde from the suspicious way he’d changed windows, but I wasn’t. Harry had been acting more secretive lately, but I figured it was about whatever had happened between William and Prince Charles at Cheltenham. Kissing his cheek, I called to Kate, “First of all, this isn’t the news. Second, why shouldn’t I have bet? I made five quid!”

“They’re saying it wasn’t proper, that it made Harry look bad,” Kate explained.

“Don’t they know that Harry does a good enough job of that himself?” I joked. Harry gave a sarcastic laugh and Kate giggled, but Will stared blankly ahead.

_Tough crowd_ , I thought before asking Kate what she was making for dinner. William’s expression remained unchanged as Kate explained that she was making lasagna, his favorite. The three of us looked at him, waiting for him to react. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat and carefully asked, “Will?” William blinked at us, like he’d had no idea that any of us had even been in the room. “Kate’s making lasagna? You’re favorite?”

Taking in a deep breath, he smiled an obviously forced smile at Kate. “Thanks darling. It’ll be great.” He got up and went to the kitchen table. Shrugging, Harry looked at me and followed. 

When they’d lived together in college, Will and Kate had both learned simple recipes. The lasagna was one of them, and it was delicious. We sat around the dinner table tucking in and talking about our jobs and our days, just like we did every night. I noticed, however, that William was oddly quiet and appeared to be using the “push things around your plate” trick Bianca had gotten so good at last year to make it look like he was actually eating. I didn’t think he was suffering from an eating disorder, but something was definitely wrong. We hadn’t even finished one bottle of wine (we usually killed at least one a night between the three of us) when, without warning, he pushed his chair back with an ear-aching screech, placed his dishes in the sink, and went upstairs. I turned to Kate, wide-eyed. “Tough day at work,” she explained, and then, to change the subject, asked, “So Roxy, are you thinking about doing Thanksgiving again this year?”

Last year, I’d taken a pass on Thanksgiving dinner. Given the break up and the rumors that Harry was dating someone new, I hadn’t been feeling very thankful. This November, however, had given me a lot to feel thankful for. “You know, I hadn’t thought about it, but I think I will.”

“Brilliant!” Kate nodded. 

Harry pushed his plate away from him. “I’ll start fasting now to save room for all of the food you’re going to shove down our throats.”

“I don’t shove!” I insisted. “I don’t need to shove. You were the one who inhaled the entire pumpkin pie.”

“Guilty,” Harry confessed with that impish smirk he had. We were discussing dates and dishes for Friends-giving when Harry checked his phone. “Well you ladies have fun planning how to give us all type II diabetes.”

“Where are you going?” I asked as he got up and put his dishes in the dishwasher. I knew something important must have been happening because Harry usually just left his dirty dishes in the sink until William yelled at him to clean them up.

“To a meeting,” Harry casually told us. This was nothing unusual – he tried to make one at least once a week - but tonight was not his usual night, and it seemed rather spontaneous. I hadn’t been around for a lot of Harry’s recovery, but Kate had, and even she looked concerned.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

Leaning over, Harry kissed the top of my head. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Easier said than done. As soon as the door was shut and we heard Harry’s car pull out of the garage, I turned back to Kate, who was biting down on her bottom lip. “What’s that about?”

After a moment, with the same surprised expression William had just had when we’d been asking him about the lasagna, as though she’d forgotten I was there, she turned to me and asked, “Hm?”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I demanded, “Fess up, Middleton. What do you know that I don’t?” 

“How to do my own makeup.” Reaching over, I gave her a playful smack and she laughed. “I don’t know! Don’t ask me to understand what goes on in that boy’s head, that’s your job.”

Taking another sip of wine, I mumbled under my breath, “I hope not.”

By the time Harry got back that night, I was already in bed. Maybe it was because I was in the middle of a Steig Larsson thriller and channeling my inner Lisbeth Salander, but all of these things had started to add up somehow in my head. William’s sour mood tonight, the conversation between him and Prince Charles at Cheltenham, Harry’s departure for a meeting. They all had to be connected, I just knew it. Harry had just barely shut the door behind him when I sat up. “What was up with your brother at dinner tonight?”

“And Detective Fox returns,” Harry smirked, collapsing onto his bed. He always came back from meetings looking exhausted. I assumed it probably took a lot out of him. 

Not willing to let this go, I propped myself up on my hands and knees so that my face was right over Harry’s. “William. Tonight. He seemed angry. I’ve never seen him angry,” I pointed out.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You’ve seen him angry once,” he corrected me.

“Okay, well that was after you tried to kill him.” He had launched himself at Kate and William and I had tried to wrestle him away from her. Pausing, I slowly asked, “Harry, did you try to kill your brother?”

This made him sit up as he contemplated his response. “No, but it would be quite _Richard III_ of me.”

“Okay, so what do you think – “

“Now is the winter of our discontent!”

“Harry – “

“Made glorious summer by this son of York!”

“Harry! I’m serious!”

“And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. “Okay. I’m done.”

Nudging him, I pressed, “So…what do you think he was so pissed about?”

“Well, I have no idea,” Harry shook his head. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? _No_ idea? Or _some_ idea and you just can’t tell me?”

Harry made like his hands were scales. “Little o’ this, little o’ that.”

I let out a little, “ _Hmph_. I’m getting really sick of this.”

Leaning annoyingly close to me, Harry offered sweetly, “There is _one_ solution to that.”

Pressing my hand to his face, I pushed him away. “Don’t even think about it.” After a minute, I went back to my book, annoyed and curious that I couldn’t make the pieces fit together like I was Mikael Blomkvist. It didn’t help my annoyance that Harry was whistling, “Going to the Chapel.”

***

I planned on Friends-giving for the Sunday before Thanksgiving, since it was the only time we’d all be home. I invited Pippa and B, but Bianca regretfully turned me down. “It’s just a food thing,” she reminded me. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with an entire holiday devoted to eating until you want to throw up.”

“It’s not devoted to eating until you want to throw up! It’s about…you know, friendship and giving and all of that.”

“It’s about infecting natives with your smallpox,” Bianca countered, and, rolling my eyes, I accepted her decline.

Unfortunately, a few days after I told Pippa about our Thanksgiving feast, she, too, called to tell me she couldn’t make it. “What? Why not?” I asked, disappointed that she and Bianca both wouldn’t be there. 

“I’ve got a lot of work to get done for the book,” she told me. Pippa was putting out a book of things she’d picked up from her parents mail-order party supplies company. It was basically an entire book on how to throw a party, and I didn’t think that anyone was better suited to write something like that than Pippa. “I’m really sorry, Rox.”

“No, it’s okay,” I assured her. For years people had been complaining that the Middleton children didn’t work, so I knew how important this was to her. 

I did start to question whether or not I should even have fake Thanksgiving when William and Kate told me that they wouldn’t be around for it, either. “We’ve got an event that night,” Kate told me.

“What? What kind of event? Guys!” I whined. “What kind of event is on a Sunday night?”

“It’s an awards thing,” William offered.

“Name the award!” I insisted. It was a trick I’d learned from Pippa. William and Kate sometimes claimed they had official engagements to attend to get out of doing stuff they didn’t want to do. So far, they’d never used this trick on me, but I’d seen them do it to other people. When it wasn’t me, I acutally thought it was pretty funny. 

“The Sports Awards,” Kate immediately answered. It was a BBC thing honoring British athletes.

“Fine,” I grumbled, “but I’m not going to make all this food just for me and Harry.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, offended. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s a lot of work for just two people.”

“Can’t you just make less? Just make a turkey that isn’t ten-stone?” Harry asked, “and a regular-sized pumpkin pie? Actually, no, still make a massive one.”

“Do you still want to do it?” I asked. He nodded eagerly and I decided I’d make a scaled-down Thanksgiving dinner, just for the two of us. 

On Sunday afternoon, the turkey had been in the oven all day and I was whisking together ingredients for the pie when I looked up through the kitchen window. Surprised, I frowned as Harry’s dad’s Rolls pulled into the driveway. He knocked on the front door and I wiped my hands free of flour before opening the door and curtsying to him. “Your Royal Highness.”

“Roxanna, surely you don’t have to curtsy to me in your own home.” 

I blushed and opened the door wider for him to come in. “I’m so sorry, I would have cleaned myself up a little more but I wasn’t expecting a visit.” I glared at Harry, who had joined me from the kitchen where he was “tasting” everything.

“No, it’s quite all right,” Prince Charles assured me. “I’ve just come to talk with Hazza.”

“Let’s go into William’s office,” Harry suggested.

I could only watch as the two men headed to the back of the house to Will and Kate’s offices. Whatever was going on was getting really strange. Irritated, I went back to the pumpkin pie. The turkey was almost done and the rest of the food was being kept warm in the oven so I went to shower all of the dough, cream of mushroom soup, and turkey fat off of me. When I was all clean and the turkey was fully cooked, Harry and Prince Charles _still_ weren’t done. Gently, I knocked on the door and waited for them to tell me I could come in. When I did, I coughed; the room was full of smoke. They’d _both_ been smoking! “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but everything’s done,” I told Harry, apologizing to his father.

“Brilliant,” Prince Charles assessed, “I was just leaving.” He stood up, always seeming about a dozen feet tall. 

We air-kissed good-bye and Harry and I headed into the kitchen. “Harry, you have got to tell me what’s going on,” I insisted.

He thought this over for a while before finally agreeing, “All right.” I blinked, surprised that he’d given in. “Let’s sit first.”

“Okay,” I slowly accepted before filling both of our plates with delicious Thanksgiving food. 

When we were seated at the kitchen table, I patiently waited for Harry to let me in on this big secret. Instead, he asked, “So, what are you thankful for this year?”

I was annoyed that he wasn’t just spitting it out. The longer he stalled, the worse the news was. Quickly, I decided on, “I’m thankful that you can do this, even though everyone else can’t. I’m thankful for this new beautiful house. And I’m thankful that you still want to have Thanksgiving with me, even if it’s just us.” 

Reaching across the table, Harry placed his hand over mine. “I’ll always want to have Thanksgiving with you,” he assured me.

Smiling, forgetting that he was bothering me for a second, I asked, “Okay, now your turn, what are you thankful for?”

Harry pulled his hand back and brushed some invisible lint off his shirt. “Well, I’m actually thankful for something pretty important. I hope you’ll be thankful for it, too. Or…at least happy about it.”

I squinted at him. “This is why everyone's been so weird lately?”

“Yup,” Harry nodded.

“Thank the _lord_. Okay, what is it?”

He paused, like he looked like he was thinking about how to say whatever was coming. “Do you remember when you walked in on Wills and my dad having that conversation?”

“Before Cheltenham? Yeah,” I recalled.

“Right. Well, Will was so angry because he was talking with the RAF and Gran about doing a tour in Afghanistan.”

I blinked back. “Wait a minute. A tour…you mean like…he wanted to be deployed?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.

“What? Why would he want to do that?” I asked, totally confused, and wholly disapproving of this plan. 

“Because we went to Sandhurst and did all that training, and it would be kind of a waste if we weren’t allowed to serve like everyone else. Loads of us have already been there, but Will and I had never considered it, so Will decided that since so many of his mates were going, he wanted to go.” My heart sank and, immediately, a lump formed in my throat at the thought of William deploying. Thankfully, Harry continued. “Anyway, after they talked with Clarence House, Gran and Dad told him that he wasn’t allowed to go because it was too dangerous.” 

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, clutching my heart. “No wonder he’s been so moody lately.” The conversation I’d overheard before Cheltenham made total sense now.

“Well…there’s more,” Harry admitted. He paused and tilted his head to one side, like he was trying to gauge my reaction to this non-news. When I had none, he continued slowly. “Will and I _both_ had originally wanted to go...and Clarence House and Papa and Gran weren’t going to allow _him_ to go, but…they didn’t really see a problem with sending the spare. So…I’m going to be deployed with the rest of the guys in my regiment.”

Suddenly, it was like he’d plunged my head into ice-cold water. I couldn’t hear, or breathe. Harry’s mouth was still forming words, I knew, but I wasn’t able to comprehend them. It took me a few seconds before I could blink. My eyes felt like they were made out of sand, and my tongue felt like cotton. “Um…sor…sorry, what? What’s happening?”

“I’m going. To Afghanistan,” he said, breaking this information up into fragments.

I realized that since Cheltenham I’d been trying to put together a puzzle with only half the pieces. Well, I had them all now. “Oh my God. That’s why you’ve been talking about getting engaged,” I realized. Harry didn’t argue, and I would have been willing to bet my RBA tuition that the others had conveniently cancelled at his request, so they'd give us this alone time to let him break the news to me in private. “That’s why…” Looking around the huge dining room, I gulped, “That’s why we moved into this house. Because you didn’t want me to be alone.”

“Actually, that one was Will and Kate’s idea,” Harry admitted. “When you were so resistant to the engagement, they thought that maybe you could stay with them at KP, but then we thought Gran wouldn’t be too keen on that idea, so they decided that if they got a house like the one they had in Wales it would be best. So that you didn’t have to wait alone.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t be having Thanksgiving and pretending to be happy while Harry was waiting to go to Afghanistan. I stood up and pushed my chair back with a screech. “I think I…I have to go,” I tried to work out. 

Harry stood too. “Fox, we have to talk about this,” Harry urged.

“I have to go.”

“Roxy, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not,” I shook my head. That may or may not have been true. I didn’t feel anything at the moment, except like I’d been knocked on the head with something heavy. “I just…need to be…not here.” The table looked so nice, decorated with fall leaves and softly sputtering candles, but I couldn’t look at it any longer. It didn't matter how nice the table was, or how good the food tasted, or how thankful I was in my life right now. This news was ugly enough to ruin it all. “I’ll clean up when I get back,” I assured Harry, grabbing my coat. I left before he could say anything else.

***

Bianca opened the door with a smile. “Well hello there Miss Foxy Roxy,” she used the nickname the press had given me when Harry and I first got together. “I thought you were having Thanksgiving tonight.” I didn’t answer her, just pushed inside our old apartment. “To what do I owe this visit?”  
“You owe it to Harry,” I told her, obviously exasperated.

When I flopped down on the couch, B sat next to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I automatically answered.

She sighed. “Okay, good, because I _really_ have to study.” After she said that, she followed it up with an excited squeal. When your final exam went from dancing in front of a sold out opera house to an essay, it _did_ sound pretty exciting.

I turned on the TV but didn’t actually watch anything. In my mind, I replayed all of the weird things that had happened over the past two months; the conversation I’d walked in on between William and his dad, why he'd had been so moody lately, Charles’s visit tonight, Harry’s continued interest in marriage. Everything I’d overheard suddenly made sense, but nothing I’d just been told made any. I turned the TV up a little louder and tried to focus on the trashy reality show. That seemed to drown out my mind for a while. Around ten, I asked B for a Xanax she’d been prescribed post-recovery and went to sleep in my old bed.

***

In the past, I had gotten in trouble with Madam and other instructors for seeming distracted during class. To avoid this problem now, I threw myself into school, focusing on my turn out, extension, and technique in order to avoid thinking about Harry. I knew that I’d start having images of him falling out of a helicopter, _ala_ Orlando Bloom in _Black Hawk Down_ , if I thought about it for even a second, so I just thought about my feet instead. That worked pretty much all day until I got out of class. To avoid going home that afternoon, I borrowed some of Bianca’s clothes so I could go for a run. I was doing a lap around Kensington when I suddenly veered off path and waved at a guard as I went through the gates. It had just occurred to me that I had a very good reason to be angry at all of the people who had been keeping this from me. While I waited for Kate to open the door, I jogged in place on the front step of apartment 1A. “Oh…hi Rox.” I could tell that she was trying to figure out if I had been told the bad news or not.

Narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, “Hi?”

Kate still didn’t open the door wider. “So…you’ve heard then.”

Without waiting for her to invite me, I pushed myself in and demanded, “How long have you known?”

Wincing, Kate offered, “I’m sorry, Rox. It’s just because…well, Will was going to go but Clarence House said no, so I knew about that.”

Throwing my hands up, I asked, “Am I the only person who remembers that Harry’s been in therapy for over a year talking about how he’s been known as ‘the Spare’ his whole life? And that this is _not_ going to help with that?”

“Actually, it might.”

I hadn’t even noticed that William was watching us at the top of the stairs until he’d spoken up. When he came down, I pointed my finger at him. “ _You_. You’re on my list, too, mister.”

“We’ve been on your list before. You’ll get over it,” he waved my threat away. 

“So, are we allowed to suggest that this might help?” Kate ventured.

“No!” I snapped. After a beat, I reluctantly asked, “How do you figure that?”

“Well, in this case, Wills is the spare,” she pointed out. 

I looked to William for an explanation. “Harry’s the one who’s actually doing something. It’s giving him a sense of importance.”

“Well it’s giving _me_ a sense of _he might get shot_ ,” I fired back. Okay, not the best grammatically efficient statement. Kate looked confused, tilting her head to one side. “I know I’m not making sense!”

She gave me an understanding smile. “Okay, but Roxy, you know why he has to do this, don’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to put my initial selfish reaction aside for a second. If I really thought about it, I guess I did understand on some level. Harry had skipped the undergrad thing and went straight from his gap year to Sandhurst, the military school. If he didn’t go out with the rest of his regiment, it would be a complete waste of all of his training. More importantly, being deployed would bring more meaning to Harry’s life. It wasn’t right that Harry be treated differently in this regard. To honor all of the sons and daughters, husbands and wives, and fathers and mothers who had _not_ come back, Harry had to go. Looking down at my running shoes, I nodded sullenly. Kate gave me a sympathetic hug.

When we pulled away, William asked, “Are you going to be okay, Rox?”

Shrugging, I answered. “I guess so. You?”

He shrugged, too, and I knew he genuinely felt shitty about not being the one to go, and probably even worse that Harry was being sent in his stead. “We’ll see.”

Understanding why he felt the way he did, I kissed him on the cheek. “I guess I should get back to the house. I sort of freaked out and bailed.”

William looked surprised. “In the middle of Thanksgiving dinner? You must have been _really_ angry.”

***

When I got back to the Surrey house, I found Harry pouring himself a cup of tea. He looked up when he heard me come in and blinked, clearly surprised. “Hey Fox,” he said cautiously. 

With a sigh, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, feeling the guilt heavy on my heart and shoulders. This whole time, I’d been worrying about my boyfriend. It was selfish of me to want him to skip out on what thousands of other boyfriends (and girlfriends) had already made this huge sacrifice for. Harry had to do this out of his sense of honor, and the royal sense of duty that had been ingrained in him since infancy. When I looked at it that way, it actually made me love him even more than I already did. 

Relieved at my new response, Harry hugged me back. “Do you want to talk?” he asked.

Pulling away, I shook my head. “We don’t have to.” Before he could protest, I continued. “Really, we don’t. I get it. I get why you have to do this, and it’s sort of one of the reasons I love you so much.”

Harry kissed my forehead. “It’ll be fine, Fox. I promise. I’ll be fine.” I rested my head against his chest, trying not to think about all of the people who had made this promise to their partners, and all of the ones who had broken it.


	83. Loose Lips Sink Ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It was impossible to dance ballet and not also pick up on a little acting. That’s what ballet _was_. You didn’t want the audience to think, “Oh, there’s Roxy in a tu-tu,“ you wanted them to believe that there actually _was_ a Swan Princess in front of them. I’d mastered the art of pretending that there was nothing going on in my life except the plot of a highly nonsensicle ballet a long time ago. More often than not, I enjoyed escaping to school. That wasn’t the case when I opened my eyes Tuesday morning. The feeling that Harry and I never had enough time had returned and was gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I cuddled into Harry, even though I knew I had to get up and shower or I’d be late.

“Good morning, my darling,” Harry kissed the top of my head. I snuggled into him with a grumpy whine and he rubbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answered. “I just don’t feel like going to class today.”

Harry pushed us apart and checked my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?” He wasn’t asking if I was sick. He was asking because I hadn’t missed one class in almost three years.

“I’m fine,” I swatted his hand away from my face. “I just don’t feel like going.”

“Well, we both know you’re going to go anyway. I’ll start the coffee,” he offered, and got out of bed to start the morning routine. Of course, there was one major difference in the routine today, which was that I was dreading the passage of every minute, because it was closer and closer to him leaving.

Instead of thinking of any of that after he left the room, I inhaled the scent of his pillow and, reluctantly, got out of bed. When I was showered and dressed for school (which involved wearing my ballet uniform under regular clothes), I went downstairs to the kitchen, where Harry had made me coffee and breakfast, the same as he did every morning. “Listen, Fox, we’re going to have to handle this deployment with extra care.”

I pushed my plate of eggs away. 

Harry pushed it back in front of me. 

“More care than anyone handles any deployment?” I asked, shoving the eggs around my plate.

“Well, yes, because this one is going to have to be a secret,” he told me.

“You? Have a secret? _No_ ,” I replied sarcastically. It was a low blow, but it was early, and I was in no mood to discuss royal procedure for someone who could potentially die, _for months_.

“Like today for instance,” he pointed out, completely ignoring me. “We’ve made a deal with the press that they can come out and do a photocall with me in camp, so they won’t report on it before I come home.” If the media were to use pictures of Harry fighting in Afghanistan to sell tabloids, they would be putting not only him, but all of the men he was fighting with, at higher risk. “So if something were to happen, you couldn’t miss a class, because then they might think something’s gone wrong and start reporting it early.”

“A prince on the front lines? What could possibly go wrong?”

Harry sighed. “Fox, I thought you understood. Remember,“ he nudged my elbow and gave me a cheeky smile, “this is why you love me.”

“I _do_ understand,” I insisted, "but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Harry rubbed my shoulder, relaxing my muscles and making me less angry. I hated that. “After school today, can you come to Clarence House? We’re going to have a meeting with the General and Papa about protocol.”

“Are Will and Kate going to be there?” I asked, knowing I’d want them with me for moral support.

“Of course,” Harry assured me.

I swallowed down a forkful of eggs. “Okay.” 

When Harry dropped me off at the train station, he tugged on my hand a little as I tried to get out of the car. “What?”

“Can I get a kiss?”

Scrutinizing the situation, I paused. “I don’t know. I’m mad at you.”

“But…I’m being deployed,” he pointed out, giving me puppy eyes.

When I gave in and leaned over, I didn’t do it because of the puppy eyes. I did it because I wasn’t sure how many more chances I’d get to kiss him goodbye.

***

I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to go to the meeting at Clarence House, which was why I took my time, lagging behind the other girls to hit the showers, and taking longer than usual to re-dress. I didn’t even try to avoid Madam in the hallway, and had several questions to ask her about when we’d start talking about spring shop…next semester. Eventually, I exited the doors of the academy and leisurely walked toward the black town car that was waiting for me.

“Going for fashionably late today, Miss DeLaSearle?” the driver asked.

“You know me,” I shrugged easily. My being late wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

A man in grey (because they all dressed in grey and looked like the agents from _The Matrix_ ) escorted me to the equivalent of the situation room in Clarence House. It looked right out of 1960, very little technology, and with cushier seating. The only thing missing was JFK and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Harry’s father stood when I entered. “Ah, Roxanna, right on time, as usual.”

“Sorry,” I curtsied, before lying, "we went late at rehearsal today.” Harry gave me a skeptical look that I avoided, and I took a seat by Kate. She gave my knee a comforting squeeze. “So. What were we talking about?”

The Englishman who wore an impressive uniform continued the explanation he'd been in the middle of when I'd walked in late. “His Royal Highness will be on base at Camp Bastion, which is here,” he pointed to a region of Afghanistan on the map behind him with a long silver pointer, “northwest of Lashkar Gah, the capitol of Helmand Province. It’s a relatively safe place, given the circumstances. The biggest threat we’ll have to be watchful of will be kidnappers. His Royal Highness will be a prime target for those hoping to hold him for ransom, even if they’re not linked to al-qeada.”

I gulped, breaking into a cold sweat. My mind immediately flashed back to the tenth grade, when insurgents had captured the journalist Danny Pearl and beheaded him on YouTube. I reached out and took Harry’s hand, hoping he couldn't feel how much my palms were sweating. He kissed my fingers, trying to be reassuring. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t much help.

“Now, if His Royal Highness _is_ captured, we do have a system in place. One of my colleagues or myself will notify Clarence House, who will notify the Prince of Wales.”

“I’m sorry, did you say that Clarence House will call _me_?” Harry’s father asked. “No, I daresay I’ll be the _first_ to know. _I_ will notify Clarence House, if and when I see fit. But make no mistake, I will be the first man in Britain to know that my child is being held captive somewhere in a cave in Afghanistan.”

I’d never seen Harry’s father angry before. He always remained calm, cool, and collected. In fact, sometimes he was _too_ calm, cool, and collected, which could come off as cold and uncaring. Now was not one of those times.

The General nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it that those arrangements are made.” He paused, waiting to see if anyone else had any input. When we didn’t, he continued. “After the Prince of Wales is notified, Clarence House and St. James Palace will be notified. They will then be responsible for notifying Her Majesty the Queen. The Prince of Wales and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will meet Her Majesty here at Clarence House.” I assumed that if there was a summit with all of the royal higher-ups at Buckingham Palace, it would cause too much of a commotion and the press might start leaking the story. “You will be joined by an officer of the army who will act as a messenger between myself and the royal family.”

“And Roxanna?” Harry’s father eyed me.

The General glanced over at me. I could tell that he thought this entire meeting was a waste of time. He was here, explaining something that he found completely normal to a bunch of spoiled children, and now an American commoner wanted to be taken into account. I shrank back in my chair. “Unfortunately, as Miss DeLaSearle is not a member of the royal family, she will not be privy to this information.”

“Now that won’t do,” Prince Charles stated.

“Papa,” Harry interrupted, sensing that his father was getting angry again.

“No, Harry, this is ludicrous!” Prince Charles insisted. “His Royal Highness this, Her Majesty that. It’s ridiculous! I am your _father_ , and this young woman is incredibly important to my son, and very dear to me. She’s _family_. Legal or not.”

The General tried to hide the bored look on his face. “Sir, I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, but you can certainly understand that what we’re talking about here is an extremely delicate situation, and the smaller the amount of people who know, the better.” He turned to me then. “I apologize, Miss DeLaSearle. I understand how hard this is on families of soldiers.”

I sniffled. Prince Charles’s emotion at my being kept in the loop was very moving. I hadn’t known that he even cared that much. “I understand,” I nodded. And I did. I understood all of it - that it was protocol, that the News of the World scandal had ruined the one shred of privacy we'd all thought we'd had - but it scared the shit out of me. “But then…how _will_ I know what’s going on?” I asked.

The General again awkwardly looked from the assorted royals to me. “How and when you are notified can be decided by the family. It is strongly cautioned, however, that no one outside the family be told until after the ordeal has been settled.”

“So I have to read about it in _The Daily Mail_ just like everyone else?” I asked.

“Unfortunately,” the General started, obviously growing weary. Then, he delivered the final blow. “Due to the recent breeches in privacy committed by the Murdoch publishing empire, we think it best if, during the duration of Prince Harry’s deployment, he not contact anyone, and it should not be discussed over the telephone or in e-mails.”

I let that sink in. “So…I can’t talk to him, and I can’t talk about him to William and Kate on the phone, and if he gets hit with an IED I’ll learn about it on the BBC.”

“Roxy,” Kate shushed me.

“Because that can happen, right?” I asked. “That’s what war is, isn’t it? People getting shot and blown up?” The room was silent. I got up and started to gather my things. “I don’t get why I have to be here. I’m being told stuff that I already know. Loose lips sink ships, got it.” 

I left the room and was halfway to the front door when Harry called, “Fox, stop.”

I turned to see him jogging to meet me. “What?” I asked, exasperated. “I have to stay in there just to be told that there’s nothing I can do and nothing that anyone else can tell me? Sorry, I don’t need to hear that.”

After I’d taken a deep breath, Harry asked, “Are you angry?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. I’m just…” Shrugging, I let my sentence trail off, unsure of what adjective would describe how I was feeling right now. “I’ll wait out here.”

Harry nodded. “Right.” He took both of my hands in his. “Fox, everything will be okay. I promise.” He could promise all he wanted, but we both knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep.


	84. Olivia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the high way. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You’ve had a busy day today,” I sang along, whirling around the practice room. A week later, Harry was out for work and I was getting in some extra rehearsal. It felt good to be in the studio just messing around. After a week’s time had passed, Harry’s impending deployment wasn’t the only thing I could think about every second of every day. For a few moments I’d forget, and then, like a stone dropping into an empty well, I’d think, “Harry’s going to Afghanistan.” I could make it through the day without bursting into tears, though, so that was a step in the right direction.

Harry’s official D-Day was New Year’s Day. Usually he spent that day at Sandringham and the whole family went hunting. Given the circumstances, however, his gran was letting him spend it at the Kensington apartment with William, Kate, and his father. I wasn’t even considering the option of going home for the holidays, and told Grace as much when my cell phone rang in my dance bag.

“Well…fine, then Mom and I will go there.”

“Grace, it’s really not a good time.”

“Oh, come on. We haven’t spent Christmas together since you went to RBA.”

“That’s because I have shows until the day after Christmas.”

“So then why can’t you come for New Years?”

“Because, uh…” I desperately searched for an excuse to pull out of my ass and remembered that Will and Kate were going on holiday with the Middletons shortly after Harry left. “We’re going on a ski trip to Switzerland.”

“When do you leave?” I told her we were leaving for our fake vacation on New Year’s Eve. “Okay, so we’ll come over for Christmas!”

“I won’t even be around on Christmas!”  
Grace was quiet for a minute before she sulked, “Well if you don’t _want_ us to come, you can just say so.”

I was pretty sure I’d been saying so for a while now, but I felt guilty at the same time as I felt annoyed. “No, it’s not that. I’ll just be busy and I’m not sure I’ll get to spend a lot of time with you. I don't want you to get bored.”

“Roxy, I’m sure Mom and I will find _something_ to occupy our time in London.”

I was hanging up my phone and trying to figure out how I was going to hide Harry’s deployment from my family, when my thoughts were interrupted. 

“Oh my God, Roxy DeLaSearle!”

Turning around, I squinted at the girl standing in the doorway. I was sure I’d never seen her in my life. The Royal Ballet Academy was a tiny, prestigious school, and this girl was certainly not one of my classmates. “Yes?” I asked tentatively.

She beamed at me and apparently took my acknowledgement of her presence as an invitation to join me in the studio. I noticed that she was wearing regular shoes – plain sneakers. That was a big no-no in ballet studios; any three-year-old in a pink tutu knew that. The girl didn’t seem to notice me staring at her Nikes when she stuck her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Olivia Guest,” she introduced herself as we shook hands, and I noticed that she was an American.

“I’m so sorry, have we met?” I asked her.

She giggled. “Oh, no. I just got here. To this school, I mean. And London, obviously.” Olivia giggled nervously and I cocked my head to one side, like I was looking at a zoo animal. Who was this girl and what was she doing here? “I’m seventeen. I graduated high school early, so my instructors thought I should just go ahead and start looking at academies now. Madam thought it would be a good opportunity for me to use _The Nutcracker_ as my audition and then start in the spring. Assuming everything goes well, of course.

Blinking, I took the opportunity while this girl wasn’t talking, which I was pretty sure was rare. “With the younger classes? The matinees?” Only the third year students got to dance in the more crowded night and weekend performances.

“Oh, of course,” she waved a hand. There was more nervous giggling. “God, no, I’m not competing with you. You’re Roxanna DeLaSearle! I’m a huge fan, I buy all the magazines.” My mind flashed back to when I met Kate the first time and told her that _The Mirror_ had printed an entire article about how I wasn’t as fashionably capable as her. “It’s such a cute story, I mean the prince and the ballerina. Not that I don’t also like your dancing. You’re phenomenal.”

“Have you seen me dance?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, totally! There’s a bunch of videos on YouTube. And the Diana concert,” she added as an afterthought. “I mean, I wasn’t there, but I saw it on TV.”

“Oh,” I nodded. I wasn’t aware that there was a catalogue of amateur footage of me on YouTube, but I wasn’t surprised to hear about it. An awkward silence blanketed us. “Well…I was just practicing,” I offered, hoping she would reach her own conclusion.

Olivia’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, right! I’ll go. I just wanted to introduce myself. So…okay, bye.” With a little wave she turned around and scuttled out of the room. I tried to shake off the weird vibe she’d brought into my practice for the next several minutes. I had almost gotten back into the groove when my phone rang again. It was B, calling to say she was on her way to pick me up. William was away for work, too, so we were having a girls night.

“The weirdest thing just happened,” I told her when I got into the car. Three photographers clicked through her window.

“Okay, well don’t tell me about it now, because then you’ll just have to tell it twice,” she warned me.

Annoyed that I couldn't vent yet, I silently fumed while we drove to Surrey. The farther we drove out of the city, the fewer the photographers, and by the time we got to the house we were alone. When we got inside, Kate and Pippa were pouring brightly colored martinis into sugar-rimmed glasses. I threw my dance back down the hall towards my bedroom and turned to Kate and her sister. Before I could vent, Pippa held up two DVD cases. “I’ve got _Notting Hill_ and _Pretty Woman_. Kind of a Julia Roberts theme,” she explained.

“ _And_ red velvet martinis,” Kate gestured to the crimson drinks.

“Sounds delicious,” Bianca reached for one. “Pippa, are you going running in the morning?”

“Yeah, let’s,” Pippa perked up. She and Kate were both athletic, and Bianca found it therapeutic. The only reason I exercised was because they usually made me go with them. I was already dreading their morning jog as they figured out a time to leave. This was just another example of the difference between life in London and life in Surrey. In London, I couldn’t so much as go for a run in Kensington Gardens without someone taking a picture on their cell phone of me looking sweaty and disgusting. 

“Oh, wait a minute,” Bianca spoke up. “Roxy’s going to be angry if I don’t ask her what she was talking about in the car.” 

“What was she talking about in the car?” Pippa asked, sipping her martini. 

“Thanks, B,” I rolled my eyes at her. “The weirdest thing happened today.” I described my run-in with Olivia and when I was done, the Middleton girls just blinked. Prompting them, I asked, “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“That you have a fan?” Kate asked. Shrugged, she answered her own question. “Not really. It’s quite flattering.”

Bianca nodded frowning. “No, I kind of see why it’s weird,” she agreed. “Why would they bring in a girl in the middle of term, right before spring?”

“Right?” I acknowledged.

“And from America? They might be trying to send you a message,” Bianca confirmed what I’d been thinking. 

“Send you a message?” Pippa scoffed. “It’s ballet, not the mob.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “You clearly have no idea how the RBA works.”

Kate reached over and placed a hand on my knee. “Don’t worry about her, Roxy. Just focus on you and your dancing. She’s no threat to you, anyway. She’s three years younger.” 

I reluctantly agreed with her and Pippa refilled our drinks as Bianca put in the DVD.

***

On Sunday morning the four of us got up for our run. When we got back Bianca made us a healthy breakfast of egg white omelets. We spent some time in the sauna chatting before Bianca had to get back to London, taking Pippa with her. Kate and I were in her dressing hall picking out an outfit for an event she and William were going to when the garage door opened. “Girls?” William called.

"We're up here, darling!" Kate answered.

The boys jogged up the stairs and I smiled. They always looked so rugged and sexy when they came back from a weekend with their respective military units. “Hello ladies,” William greeted us, giving his wife a kiss. “What are you doing in here?”

I reached out and gathered lavender fabric of one of Kate’s evening gowns in my fingers. “Wishing I had all the dresses,” I sighed.

Harry chuckled. “For someone who claims they’re broke, you have your fair share of dresses.”

“That I got at Top Shop for forty quid!” I pointed out. Feeling a rare twinge of jealousy, I plucked a hanger off the rack that was holding a teal Jenny Packham dress. “Nothing like _this_.”

Kate took the dress back with a light slap on my hand. “No touching.”

Harry and I laughed. “Do you want to go for a walk with me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I nodded. He wrapped an arm around my waist and we headed down our gravel driveway. After Harry was away for work we’d go on walks around the cute little countryside, enveloped in our comfortable privacy. We hadn’t done it since he'd told me about his deployment. Now, instead of feeling closer to him, like I usually did, I felt like there was a huge wedge squeezing its way between us.  
“How was your weekend?” Harry asked.

I shrugged. For some reason, I didn’t feel like telling him about Olivia, the new girl at school. “It was okay. I practiced mostly.”

He nodded and we were silent for a few more paces. Finally, Harry spoke up again. “I know you must worry about me, Roxanna.” I looked up at him, not sure where he was going with this. “But I worry about you, too. I worry about what will happen when I’m gone. I worry about who you’ll spend time with. Will you get fed up waiting for me? Will you be miserable for four months?”

My eyes were stinging with tears and I tried to sniffle them back. “Well I’m not going to be tap dancing down the street, singing ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy.’”

Chuckling at the image, Harry shook his head. “No, of course not, but…I’ve been talking to a lot of guys in the Blues and a lot of them have had girlfriends, and then they get deployed, and…” I looked up at him with a skeptical frown, wondering if he was about to say what I thought he was about to say. “I’m just…maybe we should agree to go on a break while I’m gone.”

I stopped in my tracks. “ _What_?”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do, but if it will make you happier while I’m gone to…have someone, then maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“And you’re just going to come back and I’m just going to tell the new guy to beat it? ‘Thanks for the memories, my real boyfriend’s back, see ya later?’ What makes you think I’m even going to find someone that I want to date?”

“You dated someone else last year.”

“That was five months ago!”

“That’s not that long.”

“And I didn’t even like him!”

“You told me you did.”

“Well, okay, I liked him, but he was like…chicken.”

Harry paused. “Huh?”

“He was okay. He wasn’t great, and I wasn’t in love with him. I never even thought I was. This whole idea is just ridiculous, I’m not breaking up with you for four months while you’re on deployment.”

“I didn’t say break up, I said go on a break.”

I glared at him. “Because it worked so well for Ross and Rachel.”

“Roxy, I’m serious.”

“So am I!” I insisted. “Look, Harry, this idea is just bat shit crazy, never gonna happen! In June, I came back to you, and I said all in. I didn’t say all in until this gets hard. I said _all_ in, and I meant it. I meant all in, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, until we wake up one day and can’t stand the sight of each other. And then we’ll just repress it like every other British couple.”

Harry smiled. “All right.”

Taking my face in his hands, I sternly reminded him, “I _love_ you.”

“You must. Or else you’d never put up with me.” I stood on my tiptoes to give him a kiss and he gave me a squeeze of a hug. When I pulled back, Harry ran his hands up and down my arms. “You’ve been with me through so much. I just need you to stay through this one last thing.”

“Of _course_ , Harry." To be honest I was surprised he'd even felt the need to ask.

***

This particular Christmas would have been difficult enough just dealing with Harry’s impending deployment. The fact that it was possibly my last _Nutcracker_ run in London and _definitely_ my last at RBA was making me even more emotional. More than one night Harry had to give me a reassuring hug, insisting that come the end of spring term I’d get so many offers from such amazing dance companies that I’d forget all about RBA. The school also offered a Christmas party for the third year girls. “Are you going to go?” Harry asked, picking up the glittering silver invitation.  
“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know any of those girls.”

“Aren’t you afraid that you’ll regret it if you don’t go?”

“Again, no.”

“It probably won’t look good to Madam,” he pointed out.

_Damn._ “Well…yeah, but I’d rather be here, with you.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him a peck on the mouth, hoping it would distract him.

When I pulled away, Harry offered, “I’ll go with you.”

I blinked. “What? That’s a _terrible_ idea. The other girls will freak, Madam will get pissed, and the press will be everywhere.”

“Not if I don’t tell anyone I’m going. The RBA will have official photographers there, if they want to take pictures, they can.”

“But I don’t want them taking pictures of _us_.”

“Well I think you should go. You’ve been sad about leaving and I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. So tell Madam you’re going and just give her a heads up that I’ll be there.”

So once again, I sat in front of Madam, telling her more information that was none of her business. “I’m glad you told me,” she said, surprising me. “That way we can prepare. We’ll say nothing to the other girls, of course. We’ll make sure the press will be given some access in the beginning. Not all night, of course. Thank you for the advanced notice.”

I nodded at her and went to leave the office.

“Roxanna.”

Slowly, I turned back around.

“You realize, don’t you, that this is what the rest of your life will be like?”

I forced out a smile at her and told her, “The rest of my life is a far way off,” before leaving the office.  
So, a few nights before Grace, her family, and my mom were supposed to fly across the Atlantic, Harry and I went in the back entrance of the Opera House and made our way to the lobby. There were a lot of people there; other girls and their dates, the guys and _their_ dates, friends, family. Clutching onto Harry’s hand, I asked, “Why did you make me come to this again?”

He chuckled and nabbed a flute of champagne off a silver tray being passed around. “Relax. Socialize.”

“But I don’t have anyone to socialize _with_.”

“That’s not true. You know…Madam and Monsieur.”

“Yeah, because I’m _dying_ to talk to them.”

“Good, because they’re coming over.”

To prepare myself, I took a swig of champagne before plastering a big, fake smile on my face. “ _Bonjour_ Madam, Monsieur.”

“ _Bonjour_ Roxanna. Your Royal Highness,” they formally addressed Harry. They’d met him and spent a bunch of time with him last year when they were planning the Princess Diana memorial concert.

“Hello again. Lovely to see you.”

“So glad you could make it to our Christmas party.”  
A photographer snapped a picture of the four of us.

“Oh, of course. Roxanna has been quite nostalgic over the past couple of years here,” he sold me out.

Madam reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Well we’ve enjoyed teaching you _just_ as much as you’ve enjoyed being here.”

“ _Merci, Madam._ ”

My two instructors and harshest critics (and that was including the royal watchers for _The Daily Beast_ ) walked away. I turned to Harry with a smirk. “Ah, _now_ I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You wanted to come to this to have everyone suck up to you.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue but someone came up behind me and hugged me around the neck. “I’m gonna miss you, you slag.”

Whirling around, I hugged Marcus back. “I can’t believe this might be our last Christmas together.”

“Might?” Marcus asked. “As soon as I get an offer from Paris, I’m on the next flight out.”

“Paris?” I frowned. “Not Moscow?”

Marcus shrugged. “I could do Moscow, be a citizen of the world.”

Harry instinctively reached out for me, subconsciously uncomfortable with all this talk of leaving. I gave his hand a squeeze and we were all chatting when a familiar head of orange hair popped up next to him. “Hey Marcus!”

“Oh, hey Olivia,” Marcus greeted her with a warm hug.

I dropped Harry’s hand and took another gulp of champagne. When Marcus and Olivia broke away from their hug, she turned to me. “Hey Roxy!” she waved, not seeming to notice Harry.

“Hey Olivia. I thought this was only for third years.” It sounded just a little better than, “Who let _you_ in here?”

“It is, but Marcus invited me,” she told me. Then, she blinked and jumped a little, like she was just noticing that Harry was there for the first time. “Oh my God! Hi!” Olivia thrust her hand forward with a giggle. “I’m Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you. Harry,” my charming and handsome boyfriend introduced himself, and for the first time I wished he wasn't so charming and handsome.

“I didn’t think you’d be here! Not that there’s anything wrong with you being here! Of course you can be here if you want! It _is_ your opera house!” Olivia laughed hysterically. “I just meant I didn’t come because I thought you’d be here. I came for the free booze. Kidding!” She was being giggly, nervous, and fanatic – everything British girls were too repressed or too well-bred to be. Had I been so adoring of Harry when we'd first met? Was that why he'd liked me better than the blue blooded women he was supposed to be dating? 

Before I could drive myself crazy with those questions, I excused myself to get more champagn. I was waiting in line at the bar when I turned to see Olivia chatting up Harry. Marcus had left the conversation, flirting with a classmate. What I saw next made my blood boil. Harry said something and Olivia tilted her head back, laughing, and reached out, giving his arm a squeeze. It was international flirtatious behavior. Oh _hell_ no. Narrowing my eyes at her from across the room, I decided to screw the drink and stalked back over to my boyfriend and the slag who was trying to flirt with him in a room full of cameras. “Okay, sorry Olivia, we were just about to get going,” I told her, slinking an arm around Harry’s waist.

Olivia frowned. “Oh, really? I wanted to talk to you about school.”

I made a phony noise of regret. “Sorry, maybe later.” Silently, I added, _And by later, I mean never_. When Harry and I walked away, I flipped my hair over my shoulder, just for good measure.

We were almost back to the Surrey house when I finally blurted out, “Do you think she’s pretty”  
Harry nearly crashed the car. “ _What_?”

“Olivia. Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I _know_ people always say this when they’re hiding something, but this time I mean it at 100% face value. I don’t even want to dignify that with a response.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“What did I _just_ say? Come on Fox, you’re better than this.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that you don’t have to be Dr. R to figure out what’s going on here. You’re feeling insecure about your last year at RBA, and now a new American girl has come to town and you’re afraid that Madam and Monsieur and Marcus and I, apparently, are all going to forget about you.”  
Crossing my arms, I let out a _hmph_. “I’m not insecure.”

“Well…you’re something,” he smirked, and I reached over and gave him a playful smack.


	85. In My Dreams I'm Christmasing With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I’d been in England for over two years and the only person who had ever made the trip was my mom, when I’d moved in to my RBA dorm. Since then the only times I’d seen them were when I went home for the holidays. Them being on my home turf should have made me feel like I had an upper hand, but instead I was really nervous. Since we had so many bedrooms, and since the royals would be at Sandringham most of the time, Grace, my brother-in-law Ray, their son Eddie, and my mom were all staying at the Surrey house. My entire family was coming over and staying with me just mere days before my boyfriend was being shipped out to Afghanistan in complete secret. What could possibly go wrong?

Harry drove me to Heathrow to pick everyone up, since they were flying in the day before the Royals all had to go to Sandringham, and since I was terrified to drive in England. “You’re going to have to learn sometime.”

“It’s scary! Everything’s backwards!” Anyway, he was one to talk. I’d taken Harry driving around my tiny neighborhood in Jersey, and he’d almost gotten us t-boned because he was looking in the wrong direction. That didn’t make me feel super confident that I could make the change easily.

We stopped outside the gate and saw my family standing at the curb with their suitcases. “Hey guys!” I waved, and a few paparazzi took pictures.

“Ugh. Do they have to do that now? I just got off an airplane,” Grace complained, giving me a hug.

“Sorry,” I shrugged.

“Aunt Rocky, who’s that?” Eddie asked, pointing to the cameras.

Ray placed a hand atop Eddie’s thick brown curls. “Remember we told you that people sometimes like to take pictures of Aunt Rocky?” Eddie nodded, but still looked confused. I couldn’t blame him. 

We got into the car after Harry got out and gave my family all warm hugs. Eddie practically jumped at him. He was very into the fact that Harry owned swords. When we were on our way to the Surrey house, Ray asked him, “How did your parents explain that to you?”

Harry shrugged before merging. “They were always just very straightforward with us. We are who we are, and that meant people liked to see what we were doing. When we were younger it was mostly just official photo calls, but the media really got more aggressive with my mother than they had been before, so it was a bit different.”

“Are you married?” Eddie asked, interrupting us.

“Perfect,” I muttered, and Grace snickered.

“No, we’re not married,” Harry told him.

“Then why do you live together?”

“Yeah Roxy, then why do you live together?” my mom repeated.

“Okay, you’re not helping.”

“Roxy and I live with my brother and his wife,” Harry offered, not really answering the question. “Sometimes when people get older, they like to have roommates.”

“I have my _own_ room,” Eddie proudly declared, obviously not understanding why anyone would ever want to live with anyone else.

Unexpectedly, I started to feel a little anxiety when we pulled up to the house. It was a modest home by royal standards, but still bigger than the three-bedroom house we lived in back in New Jersey. This was a four-bedroom house for two couples with a home theater, home spa, and a dressing hall. I didn’t even get the satisfaction of feeling proud of it, like I’d been successful in my career, because that had nothing to do with why I was living in this house. Okay, so I paid rent, but I was afraid that Grace and my mom would think I’d gotten too big for my britches. “So…this is our house,” I gestured to it as we crunched through the gravel driveway.

Grace let out an exaggerated, “ _Day-um_. This is _nice_ , Roxy.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, blushing. Harry frowned at me, confused at my bashful reaction, and I forced out a smile. When we got inside, the Cambridges weren’t in sight, but I knew they were here because their cars were in the driveway. “Will? Kate?” I called.

“We’ll be right down!” Kate responded.

“Wonder what _they’re_ doing,” Grace nudged Ray’s arm.

I rolled my eyes. “She’s probably picking out her clothes for Sandringham.”

“She needs to pick out clothes for that?” Grace asked.

Harry nodded. “You have to change like, seven times every day if you’re a woman.”

“Wow. That sounds fun.”

I told my family where they could put their suitcases and by the time they’d wheeled them back to their rooms, Will and Kate were downstairs, greeting them with hugs and air kisses. They’d met my mom, Grace, and Ray before, but not Eddie. He poked William in the back of the leg and Will turned around, kneeling down to be face-to-face with him. “Hello Eddie, I’m William.”

“My mommy says you’re gonna be king one day,” Eddie informed him.

William nodded. “I will.”

“I read a book, and there was a king, but he was mean. You shouldn’t be mean. Can you say, ‘Off with their heads?’ Do you have a horse? Do you have a sword? Do you have a crown? Do you get to sit on a throne?”

“Eddie,” Ray pulled him away from where he was barraging William with questions. 

William assured him it was okay. “Nothing I haven’t been asked before.” Then, he turned back to Eddie. “I have _three_ horses, and I don’t get to sit on a throne yet, but I will when I’m king.”

“Cool! I wish I was king!” Eddie lamented. “I wish I had a little brother, ‘cuz Mommy told me Harry’s your little brother, but Mommy said I don’t get one because Mommy says sometimes once is enough.”

William and Kate let out loud laughs. “Well, as someone who has a younger brother, it’s not that great,” William admitted.

I gave my family a tour of the house, watching their reactions closely. They didn’t appear to be thinking that I’d become a spoiled brat, and neither my mom nor Grace had the ability to not show every single emotion they were feeling on their faces. If they were thinking it, I would have known, and they didn’t seem to be thinknig it. Eddie was super pumped about the movie theater. “Can we watch _Nemo_?”

“Maybe later, Eddie,” Ray appeased him. “I kind of doubt Roxy and Harry have a huge collection of Disney movies.”

Grace turned to Kate and I before asking, “So…am I allowed to see the dressing hall?”

“Sure!” Kate agreed, and we headed upstairs. The first time I’d been in Kate’s closet, I’d been completely blown away. Not only was the sheer _amount_ of clothes shocking, but it was organized so thoroughly; by item, and then by labels on the hangers, marked with the date Kate had worn it and where. There were shoes, clutches, jewelry. It was like Saks 5th Avenue had taken all of its nicest things and put them into Kate’s closet.

Grace’s mouth stayed open for a _long_ time, and I knew that she was hearing a choir of angels in her head. “Your life is everything I’ve ever wanted,” she finally breathed out.

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Even the part where everyone’s seen your breasts?” Over the summer, a French magazine had published photos of Kate sunbathing topless on vacation with William. They’d been absolutely devastated.

Considering it for a moment, Grace finally nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d still take it.” She took a slow tour of the dressing hall before reaching out for a lavender McQueen gown. “Oh my _God_ , this was my favorite one. I _love_ the color, and the flowy skirt. It’s just fantastic.”

“Aw, thank you,” Kate smiled.

“So what are you wearing to Christmas?” Grace asked, and Kate showed us the crimson coat she was recycling. 

She had finished displaying her Sandringham wardrobe when my mom called up, “Roxanna Nicole! Your mother is hungry!”

“Okay Ma! We’re coming!” Grace called back down to her.

“Grace!” I scolded, clamping a hand over her mouth. “No yelling around the dresses!”

Surprisingly, she didn’t get annoyed at this odd command. Instead, she whispered, “Sorry,” and tip-toed out of the room.

When the door clicked closed behind her, Kate took a houndstooth dress off the rack and considered it before putting it back. “You know, I think you should talk to Grace.”

“I do talk to Grace.”

“No, about Harry.”

“What is with everyone and their bad ideas lately?”

Kate chuckled. “Honestly, I think you should. She can give you a unique, objective perspective that William and I can’t. Plus, you told her about the other stuff, and that was fine.” It sounded like we were in the mob, the way we were dodging around specific words. “Talk to Grace _about_ Harry,” “the other stuff”; it was all code. 

“Grace and I aren’t close like you and Pippa,” I shook my head.

“You know, you say that, but the two of you have seemed close the entire time I’ve known you. Maybe you’re just still thinking about how your relationship was, instead of how it _is_.”

“Okay, seriously, _everybody_ needs to stop going to Dr. R.”

***

On Sunday, my family went to bed early, jet-lagged from the red-eye to London. The royals were leaving for Sandringham on Monday morning, and I found it difficult to get to sleep. The next time I said goodbye to Harry after this morning would be when he left for deployment. I tossed and turned next to him for a few hours, but never fully fell into a REM cycle. It was still dark outside when Harry wrapped his body around mine. There were plenty of nights when we cuddled, and when we’d first started dating we’d fallen asleep like that all the time. Now we were at that point in our relationship where it got hot and uncomfortable if we spooned for too long. I mean, we shared a bathroom. There was a certain level of intimacy that you reached when you thought it was more romantic that he put your coffee in your favorite to-go cup in the morning than him cuddling you while you fell asleep. So when he wrapped his arm around me and shook me gently, I instantly woke up from my light sleep. “What is it?” I gasped, sitting straight up in bed.

“Everything’s okay,” he immediately shushed me. “I just want to show you something.”

Rubbing my eyes, I nodded. “Okay, what?”

He smiled and kissed my temple. “Come on, put your wellies on.”

Squinting, I read the time on the clock next to our bed and frowned. “It’s four in the morning.” Harry didn’t say anything, just confirmed that it was, in fact, four in the morning. I put on a pair of yoga pants, my wellies, and my puffer jacket over his old Sandhurst sweatshirt before taking his hand. We got into his Ranger Rover and drove around Surrey for a minute. It had started to snow. The tan leather seats were still chilly as we drove. After a while, Harry parked the car and got out before coming around to my side and opening the door. The snow was falling pretty hard, but there was almost no wind. The moon was low in the sky by now and its light reflected off the pale earth, making everything look like it was glowing. If I believed in Heaven, it would probably look like this. 

We were at some park, and Harry took my hand in his, leading me over to the edge of a wide valley. Only it wasn’t really a valley. It looked like someone had taken a huge soup ladle and scooped out a spoonful of land. The snow had fallen on all of the trees, covering them in dusty white flakes. It was pooling at the bottom of this space in the ground. There was no one around, just Harry and I, and in the dark, quiet, chilly snowfall, it was easy to think that we were the only two people on the face of the earth. I would have cried, but the tears froze on my cheeks.

Coming up behind me, Harry wrapped his arms around my shoulders. 

“What is this?”

“They call it the Devil’s Punchbowl. I don’t know how it got here. They say two giants were fighting, and one of them got a handful of the earth and threw it at the other one, and that’s how the Isle of Wight was made.”

“Sounds logical enough,” I nodded.

Harry chuckled, and I could feel it deep in his chest. “I wanted to show you this before I left,” he murmured into my hair.

I held onto his hands, which were clasped at the base of my neck. I wanted to yank onto him, for both of us to go tumbling headfirst into this abyss. Then I realized that we already had.

When we got back home, we both fell asleep for a couple of hours. Finally, around seven in the morning, we got out of bed again and, for a change, I made _him_ breakfast. We were completely silent as we ate, and the royals packed up their stuff into the Cambridges’s car. Eddie woke up _far_ too early, so I poured him a bowl of Cheerios and told him to watch cartoons until his parents were awake. The Cambridges got into the car and Harry turned to me, wiping away the tears that were already running down my cheek. _I want my mom_ , I thought, and was glad that she was right inside. “Don’t cry my darling.”

“I’m not,” I lied, shaking my head. The next time I said goodbye to him would maybe be forever. The thought just came over me, it didn’t hit me like a brick to the face, but however hard, it hit me just the same.

Harry planted a kiss on my mouth. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Sniffling, I told him I loved him back and waved to the Cambridges as they pulled out of the driveway.

When I headed back inside, I made sure Eddie was situated in front of _Postman Pat_ and made my way back to my mom’s room. I didn’t have that much time - I needed to shower and head to the Opera House - but for the next five minutes, I just wanted my mom. 

Quietly, I opened her door and tip toed over to the bed, lifting up the covers as gently as I could and slipping in next to her. “Roxy?” she asked, groggily. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I shrugged. 

She sat up and stared down at me, no doubt confused as to why her twenty-year-old daughter needed to feel protected from the monsters under her bed. “Did Harry and the Cambridges leave?” I nodded and she lay back down in bed again, combing her fingers through my hair. The feeling of her fingertips on my scalp felt nice, and I almost dozed off again. “You’ll see them in a few days,” she said, assuming that I just missed my friends and my boyfriend.

“Yeah, I know.”

Before she could say anything else, Grace knocked on the door, frowning when she came in. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t want to give her the humiliating answer, so I got out of bed. “I should shower and get going. Are you guys _sure_ you’re gonna be okay here alone?”

“Roxy, it’s _London_. I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Grace pointed out.

Sighing, I left the room before popping my head back in and pointing at Grace. “ _Don’t_ go in Kate’s closet while I’m gone.”

Grace just gave me a shrug. “Not making any promises.”

*** 

I was getting a bad case of the Christmas blues, which was made worse by the fact that I wasn’t living with my best friend any more, and even if I was, I couldn’t tell her what was going on. I couldn’t even tell Pippa. So while I knew, rationally, that no one else knew, that didn’t stop me from feeling like it was stamped across my forehead any time someone looked at me. Thankfully, Bianca was willing to handle my family when I wasn’t available, and showed them around London for a bit. Harry had also arranged for tours of Buckingham and Kensington that were a little more thorough than the standard ones. 

My family, B, Pippa, and her mom Carole all came to the show on Christmas Eve. To me, dancing was splitting myself open and bearing my insides to everyone. All of my deepest, darkest secrets were right out there for everyone to see. So normally, I didn’t like anyone I knew watching me dance. Tonight, however, I was glad that almost everyone I loved was sitting in the audience. After the show, they came back stage and I introduced them to Madam. “It’s lovely to meet you. Roxanna is one of our most promising students,” she told them.

My mom beamed proudly at me. “We’re very proud of her,” she said, tucking some hair behind my ear. Carole, my surrogate mother in England, gave my shoulder a squeeze. For a second, through all of the dread in my stomach, through all of the fog in my head, just for a _second_ , I felt something else. Everyone I knew and loved was proud of me, just because I was doing something that I had always done. They were just there to love me, and right then, I needed to be loved.

***

On Christmas, while Harry’s entire family was at church, my entire family was exchanging presents. I called B and Pippa to wish them a Merry Christmas before waiting to hear from the royals. Sandringham was run like a small army. You had to be in a specific place at a specific time wearing a specific outfit – not exactly an ideal holiday. It wasn’t the sort of place where Harry could just pick up the phone whenever I called. When he did finally call, I was about to leave for the Opera House. “Oh, hey, I was just leaving.”

“Do you want me to call you later?”

“No, that’s okay. Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.” 

I paused. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.” There was a beat before he quietly pleaded, “Don’t cry, my darling.”

I shook my head and lied, “I’m not.”

*** 

After the show on Christmas, Bianca came back to the Surrey house with me. Last year, our relationship had gotten to its lowest point ever, and probably the lowest it ever would be. Bianca had never liked her step-father, Paul, and last Christmas she’d finally revealed to me why. Since she was nine-years-old, he’d been molesting her. I could have murdered the man. Bianca had held this secret inside of her for years, until she’d finally told her mother after she’d been hospitalized because of her eating disorder. Her mother had quickly divorced Paul, and even though he wasn’t at the house anymore, Bianca still didn’t relish the idea of spending the holidays in the place where every evil in her life had happened to her. It was doubly good to have her here, because she made this drink called a poinsettia, which was champagne, cranberry juice, and vodka. It was delicious. 

After everyone drank too many cocktails and ate too many of the Christmas cookies Kate had baked, one-by-one they went to bed. Eddie passed out from a sugar crash and Ray carried him back to their bedroom, Grace joining them shortly after. B and I discussed her exams for a while before she also headed to bed. She was sleeping on a pullout in the theater room. Once everyone was in bed, I took out the Clorox from under the sink and sprayed down the kitchen counter. I poured out champagne flutes, rinsed glasses, dried and put away, swept up crumbs. Somewhere in the background, music was playing. When we’d gotten back home, Bianca had put on a playlist of Christmas music Pippa had compiled last year. Some slow, sad Dolly Parton song I’d never heard before was playing.

_Maybe I’ll move so far, they’ll all lose track._  
 _Me, I’ll bounce right back._   
_Maybe I’ll sleep real late._  
 _Maybe I’ll lose some weight._  
 _Maybe I’ll clear my junk._  
 _Maybe I’ll just get drunk on apple wine._  
 _Maybe I’ll be just_  
 _fine and dandy._  
 _Lord, it’s like a_  
 _hard candy Christmas._  
 _I’m barely getting through tomorrow._

I didn’t realize I was crying before I head Grace announce, “This is becoming my least favorite holiday tradition.” Last winter break, she’d also walked in on me crying in the kitchen.

Wiping my eyes, I sniffled, “Sorry.”

Grace shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize.” Pulling out two chairs at the kitchen table, she asked, “What’s wrong?” I didn’t say anything when I sat down. “I’m guessing this is more Harry stuff?” I nodded. “Has he…” Grace lowered her voice and whispered, “relapsed?”

“No, no,” I insisted, “he hasn’t. He’s clean.”

“So…what is it?”

Taking a shaky breath, I admitted to her, “He’s doing a tour. In Afghanistan.”

Grace didn’t understand at first. “Why would the Queen send him to Afghanistan? I thought Pakistan used to be a British territory? I mean, isn’t that a little dangerous?”

Nodding, I told her in a low voice, “Not _that_ kind of tour.”

The realization happened on Grace’s face in pieces. First her forehead, then her mouth, finally in her eyes. “Holy fuck,” she breathed out. Then she pulled me into her, the same mothering way she had last Christmas. “I’m sorry, Rock. But…it’s better than a relapse.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, Roxy. He wants to do this because he’s trying to be a good person.” I opened my mouth to spout out my political views, but she clamped a hand over it before I could say anything. “ _Regardless_ of how you feel about the war, he wants to go because he doesn’t want to be given special treatment for being royal. It’s…I mean, it’s very inspiring.”

“Yeah. When he dies it’ll make a great tear-jerker.” I muttered.

Grace gave my hand a squeeze before repeating, “I’m sorry, Rock.” She thought about it for a few silent seconds before blurting out, “It’s really not fair.”

Blinking, I asked, “What’s not fair?”

“That they keep making you keep all of these secrets for him.”

“No one’s making me do anything,” I countered. “I don’t mind keeping the secret. I mean, yes, I’d rather be able to tell B and Pippa. The part I mind is the part where I can’t talk to him for four months.”

“Roxy, they have e-mail in Afghanistan,” she rolled her eyes, assuming I was just being dramatic.

“Yeah, and they have it everywhere else, too.” At Grace’s blank look, I explained to her about the _News of the World_ scandal. “So the…I don’t know, the people who make these decisions thought it would be safest if we didn’t communicate.”

“Not at _all_? _Nothing_? E-mail? Snail mail? Carrier pigeon? Smoke signals?”

I sputtered out laughter before smiling at Grace. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me laugh.” It had been a rough road, for Grace and I, but we were getting somewhere. Progress was slow, but we were definitely getting somewhere.


	86. Seas Between Us Broad Have Roared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

My family left on the 27th and Harry came back to the Surrey house. William and Kate stayed at Sandringham for a few more nights with the family, and then went right to KP, giving Harry and I two nights alone. Oddly enough, they were probably some of the happiest, healthiest nights of our entire relationship. For some reason, I wasn’t feeling any of that desperate hunger that I’d been feeling for the past month. Maybe I had accepted that Harry was leaving, or maybe I was just in a deep stage of denial, but whatever the reason, we seemed fine. We walked around in our wellies in the snow. We listened to music and made dinner. We weren’t afraid to be too loud when we made love. The days were peaceful, and quiet, something that Harry and I very rarely got to be.

On the 30th we went to KP, and I only resented that I had to share Harry _just_ a little. Of course his dad and brother would also want that time with him. In fact, I even felt a little bit like an imposition. Harry had asked his father about this, to which his father had apparently replied, “Tell her not to be ridiculous. I’d simply never forgive myself if she was left out.” Still, I knew that I should butt out when Harry told me what his plans for the day were. 

"William and I are going up to Althorpe."

I didn't have time to think about my reaction or try to cover my gasp. It seemed like the obvious thing to do now, but for some reason I hadn't thought about Harry going to visit his mother's burial site before he left until now. "Oh, Harry," I reached up and wrapped my arms around him, drawing his forhead to mine. 

His normal clear eyes clouded with tears. "I just...want to say goodbye to her. Just for now."

I shut my eyes and we stood there, breathing each other in. I hadn't completely swallowed the lump in my throat and in a teary voice I eeked out, "Do you want me to come?"

"Would you be hurt? If it was just me and William?" Harry asked, searching my eyes for an answer.

" _No_ ," I assured him. "No, no, no. Of course I completely understand. Harry," I held his face in my hands, "she is _so_ proud of you. And we're both going to be so happy when you come back." Of course, whether or not Harry _would_ come back wasn't a certainty, but we both needed to pretend it was, in that moment.  
Harry reached up and wiped the tears from my eyes. "Thank you my darling girl." When he held me to his chest, I tried not to let my heart ache as I wondered how many more times I'd get to hear that. 

While William and Harry went to Althorpe, and then Buckingham so Harry could say goodbye to his grandparents, Kate and I would occupied the time by baking, drinking, talking and watching chick flicks. “I miss Pippa and B,” I admitted to her.

“Me, too,” she confessed.

“I told Grace about everything.”

“Lucky,” Kate sulked.

I frowned. “Well, if I’m telling Grace, how come you can’t tell Pippa?”

“She’s too close,” Kate shook her head. “I wouldn’t want her slipping up. Besides, the whole _News of the World_ thing? What if she asked me about it in my mailbox and someone hacked in?”

“Grace could do the same thing to me,” I pointed out.

“She could, but she won’t.”

This was probably true – a rare upside to not having ever been that close with my sister. She may talk to me about it over the phone, in code, but she wasn’t going to leave me a voicemail about it or text me. I still wished we could tell Pippa, though. “She told me that she doesn’t think it’s fair that I have to keep all of these secrets for Harry.”

Kate cocked her head to one side. “And? What do you make of that?”

“I guess I see what she means,” I mumbled with a shrug. “It does kind of suck.” Kate just nodded, waiting for me to go on. “It’s just…Harry and I have had these _huge_ ups and downs. And I’m not saying that all of them are his fault, because some of them were definitely mine, and I get that. Now I just want to know…when does it get easy? When do we just have that boring life? When am I not afraid? When are there no addictions? When are there no break ups? When are there no deployments? When can we just _be_ together?”

With a sympathetic expression, Kate agreed, “That must be frustrating.”

“It’s not frustrating,” I said. “I don’t even know what the right word for it _is_. It’s like I’m in this relationship with someone that I hardly know, because we’ve never been in a stable, solid place.”

“That’s not true,” Kate countered. “You’re relationship is solid, and strong. William and I spent _years_ laying a foundation. It takes time, and it wasn’t all sunshine and roses then, either. True, there were never any overdoses, but there were at least two break ups, and tons of rows, and ex-girlfriends who kept cropping up like daisies." It was clearly still a painful memory, as Kate revealed this to me through clenched teeth. I tried not to snicker as she took a deep breath and continued. "Relationships have ups and downs, and so you and Harry have had ups and downs. I mean, living in Surrey, you’ve liked that, haven’t you? And there was a long period of time before the wedding, and after the wedding, when you and Harry were just happy and together.”

Sighing, I agreed, “I guess that’s true. It just seems like so much.”

“Well, it has been quite a bit in a small amount of time.” Pausing, she tried to think about what she was going to say next. “Look, at the end of this year, you’ll be out of school. So you can take out that _huge_ hurdle. And Harry will be back in May, and then you’ll have all the time in the world.”

There were still far too many variables in that assessment for me. What if I got an offer in Japan or Brazil or Australia? What if Harry wanted to go on a second deployment? What if I got no offers? What if everything that could possibly go wrong, did?

I didn't have much time to let this throw me into a panic because the boys came back home. Both of them had red rims around their eyes. I shot Kate a look and we silently agreed to go take care of our boys. "How was it?" I asked, sitting on Harry's bed after he'd shut the door behind us.

He didn't answer me for a long time, just changed out of his jeans and sweater into sweatpants and an old, ratty t-shirt. Finally, he sat down next to me and pulled me into him. In a strangled whisper, he asked, "Please don't be angry with me." At first I wasn't sure what he meant. Yes, I'd been a little angry in the beginning, but that was out of confusion, and the embarrassment and hurt at realizing I'd been lied to for months while everyone else knew about the deployment. I'd been feeling a lot of emotions lately, but anger wasn't one of them. 

It took a second or two, but eventually I understood what Harry meant. Two Christmases ago, he and I had delved into the tragic stories of our broken homes. Harry had been telling me about the days after his mother's death when he'd revealed that he'd been angry at her. It had been a pretty shocking admission. I'd expected him to feel some way about it, but I hadn't expected to hear that. When he'd explained it, it made more sense. He resented how quickly she'd been gone, how he'd still had so much that he'd wanted to say to her, how they still had so much to work out. But he'd never gotten the chance. Harry was asking me, now, to not spend the next decade of life bitterly resenting him for leaving me out here, all alone.  
I looked up and him and placed a hard, sincere kiss on his mouth. "I could never, Harry. Never." But, just like we'd all been trying to reassure ourselves by doing the past month, we couldn't predict the future.  
***

It was decided that early on New Year’s morning, the four of us would accompany Harry to the helipad, where he would leave for base. I heard everyone t alk at me and make arrangements, but that was all the grasp I had on any of it. It just felt like going over a speed bump. 

And then, all of a sudden, it was New Year’s Eve. The four of us (the Cambridges, Harry, and I) didn’t do much. We opened a bottle of sparking cider and gave a toast that was half-hearted. We were all distracted. At some point, Kate told us that it was the New Year. I honestly wasn’t sure which was worse, this or last years. After silently considering it, I decided last year was worse. At least this time, Harry was next to me, even if I was miserable. 

It was only a few minutes after midnight when we all went to bed. I wondered if Will and Kate were going to lie awake, like I knew I’d be doing all night. In complete silence, Harry and I brushed our teeth, I washed my face, moisturized, and got into bed. Completely still and silent, we lay side by side in the dark. I was certain that we’d lay awake like that until we had to go, but Harry broke the suffocating silence. “Roxy.” I turned and blinked up at him. He didn’t look me in the eye as he said what he had to say next. “Look…if something…if something happens…”

“Harry, please don't,” I begged, knowing that I was going to break. After all, I was only hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

“No Roxy, I have to…I have to say this.” I sat up, leaning back against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to my face to wipe away the tears that were already flowing. “If something happens to me, I know…I know you’ll be devastated. But you have to lean on the people around you. You have to…you have to lean on Pippa, and Bianca, and the rest of my family. And I don’t mean just William and Catherine – I mean my father, my cousins. They’ll always be here for you, no matter what.” The sobs were choking out of my throat now as I finished the rest of Harry's statement. They'd be here for me, even if he wasn't. “And I don’t want you to feel guilty about moving on.”

“Harry, no, I can’t,” I insisted.

“You have to, Roxanna. Please. I want you to cry and drink red wine with the girls. I want you to feel as shit as you’re going to feel, and then I want you to move on. I want you to get out there, go back to the pub by the house, sing karaoke, make more mistakes, drink too much, swear too much. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t find someone else…” At this point, even Harry’s voice got strained. “I want you to find someone else who can make you happy.” Turning to me, he blinked, unsuccessfully attempting to hold back his own tears. “I swear, Roxanna, he will be in love with you as much as he can, but he’ll still only love you _half_ as much as I do.”

When I threw my arms around him, he hugged me back, tight. I pressed my mouth against his, tasting the tears on both our faces. His skin was on my skin. I felt his breath on my neck, his mouth everywhere. His hands were warm. There was no other way for us to get this out, so we did the only thing we could do; we made sure we were as close as possible for as long as possible. 

Usually, Harry and I both passed out after sex, but not tonight. Tonight, we remained wide-awake until the alarm buzzed harshly at four am. I wasn’t sure if my legs would hold me. They felt like slowly melting ice. My breathing was shaking and shallow and hurt my chest, like running in the cold. I pulled on a pair of jeans, Harry’s old t-shirt, and one of his hoodies, wanting to keep the smell of him on me. We met William, Kate, and Prince Charles in the kitchen. A man in red offered us tea. We all declined.

We were at the helipad far too soon. Wasn’t it farther away? Shouldn’t the car ride have taken longer? Didn’t I have just a few more minutes, seconds to clutch onto Harry’s hand?

Completely numb, I got out of the car and followed the other four towards the helicopter. It seemed miles and miles away, and yet, somehow we stopped walking all too soon. Harry turned around to face us and placed his pack on the tarmac. “So…I guess this is…it.”

Charles reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Be careful, my boy.”

“I will,” Harry assured his dad. Unable to control himself, Prince Charles embraced Harry in a warm hug. When he stepped back, Harry turned to the Cambridges.

“Good luck, Harry,” William gave his brother a hug and a firm handshake.

“Do be safe,” Kate insisted with a fierce hug.

“I will,” he repeated. “You look after my girl, won’t you?”

Wiping a tear from her cheek, Kate nodded and told Harry that she would. When he turned to me, Prince Charles suggested that the three of them return to the car to give us some alone time. When they were far enough away, Harry leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine. For a few moments, we just stood there, staring at each other. _Don’t go_ , I willed him mentally. _Don’t go. Please stay here with me. Please don’t go._ Harry didn’t seem to get the message. “You’ll stay safe?” I asked, barely able to lift my voice above a whisper.

“I’ll stay safe,” he said back to me.

“You’ll come back?”

“I’ll come back.”

“You love me?”

The tears started to well in Harry’s eyes, making them rimmed with red. The blue stood out even more. I knew that tears were falling down my own face. “I will love you forever.” Gathering my hair in his fists, Harry choked out, “Those things I said last night…you promise me you’ll do them?”

“I promise,” I lied. There was no way I could move on if something were to happen. There was no way I’d even be able to recover at all, to get out of bed, to do anything. If the worst happened, I would just curl up in out bed and cease to exist. But I couldn’t tell him that.

“You be my girl, all right? You be my sweet, darling girl.”

“I will,” I sniffled. 

“Captain Wales,” a man spoke up from the cockpit of the helicopter. Turning away from me, Harry looked up and saluted to the man. He saluted back. Harry looked back at me and pressed his mouth against mine. It tasted like tears. “I love you with everything, Roxanna,” he breathed out.

“With _everything_ ,” I repeated. He kept his grasp on my hand until the very last second, and when it slipped through his fingers, I felt like he’d slowly pulled my heart out of chest and taken it with him.


	87. I'm Scared of What's Behind and What's Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "After the Storm" by Mumford & Sons
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It started slowly. At first, I just couldn’t feel my knees, but that had been going on for hours. When we got back to KP, Will, Kate, and I said goodbye to Prince Charles, who looked a little dazed, and went back to the Surrey house. In the car ride back home, I started to feel like my lungs were filled with cement. “Roxy?” Kate asked, turning around from the passenger seat. “Are you okay? You look ill.”

“I…” was all I could get out. There was no answer to her question. Of course I wasn't okay, but I wasn't sure there were words to describe why, or how I was feeling - what hurt, like I'd tell the doctor when I was a kid.

Kate and William looked at each other, and when we got back to the house they both helped me out of the car; there was no way I could have made it on my own. I had no consciousness of the rest of my body. When we were inside, Kate sat me down on the couch while WIlliam made tea. I had started to get tunnel vision ash Kate attempted to instruct, “Try to breathe, Roxy. You have to breathe.”

All I could do was shake my head. Did I even know how to breathe? _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._ The tears kept coming; I wasn’t even crying, just spewing tears from my eyes. _Oh shit, shit, shit. Oh my God, oh my God…shit._

“Roxy, you have to breathe,” Kate repeated. “Please, try for us.” Like I was underwater, I heard her ask William what to do. I heard him ask her if she had any Xanax. She said she did and went to go get it. William rubbed my back and tried to get me to sip my tea. Kate returned with an orange bottle and placed a pink pill into my palm. The tea spilled over the rim of the cup as I brought it to my lips with shaking hands. Once I’d swallowed the pill, Will and Kate walked me to my bed. I collapsed and fell asleep.

_And after the storm_   
_I run and run as the rains come_   
_and I look up. I look up._   
_On my knees, and out of luck,_   
_I look up._

The next time I woke up, I didn’t know what time it was, what day it was. It was dark outside. Had I slept all day? Was it tomorrow? Was Harry really gone?

I rolled over to see the empty space next to me. Feeling a second panic attack coming on, I swiped the orange bottle of Xanax Kate had left on the bedside table. I swallowed another one, and went back to sleep.

No idea how long later, I awoke with a gasp. Harry sat up next to me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Letting out a relieved breath, and holding my hand to my chest, I shook my head. “I just had this horrible nightmare,” I breathed out.

Harry smirked. “Let me guess – there were red sparkling shoes, a witch, a little dog?”

I turned to him and kissed him hard on the mouth, elated to find him next to me.

I woke up with a gasp and sat up in bed. 

The space next to me was still empty.

_And night has always pushed on day._   
_You must know life to see decay._   
_But I won’t rot. I won’t rot._   
_Not this mind, and not this heart._   
_I won’t rot._

“Roxy? Do you want me to make you some tea?” Kate asked with light raps on my door.

“No thanks,” I told her, hugging Harry’s pillow close to me and inhaling. 

Kate didn’t say anything else for a while, and I thought she’d gone away. “Do you want us to get you some dinner? We’re ordering take away.”

“I’m fine.”

“All right. Just…let us know if you want anything.”

“I’m fine.” 

_And I took you by the hand_  
 _and we stood tall_  
 _and remembered our own land,_  
 _what we lived for._

I woke up and looked out the window. What day was it? What night was is? How long had Harry been gone? Where was he? What was he doing? Was he scared? Did he need me? 

I opened the orange bottle next to the bed and dry swallowed another pill.

_And there will come a time, you’ll see,_   
_with no more tears,_   
_and love will not break your heart,_   
_but dismiss your fears._   
_Get over your hill and see_   
_what you find there_   
_with grace in your heart and_   
_flowers in your hair._

Kate knocked lightly on my door before opening it slowly. She tiptoed over to my bed before sitting next to me and brushing some hair out of my face. “Rox? B and Pippa are here. Do you want to go to the pub? It’s trivia night.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“You’ve been sleeping for three days.”

“I’m tired, Kate.”

“I know, but I really think you should try to get out of bed.”

“I will later.” Jesus, Harry had only been gone for three days. “I’m really tired.” Before Kate had shut my door all the way, I had fallen back to sleep. 

_And now I cling to what I knew._   
_I saw exactly what was true,_   
_but oh, no more._   
_That’s why I hold._   
_That’s why I hold_   
_with all I have,_   
_that’s why I hold._

I woke up with a gasp and sat straight up in bed. Harry sat up next to me. “Roxanna? Darling, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed out, turning to him and throwing my arms around him. “Thank God.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, confused.

“I had this horrible nightmare that you were deployed,” I told him.

He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “I’m right here,” he assured me. “Everything is okay. I’m right here.”

I woke up with a gasp and sat straight up in bed. I looked to the empty space next to me. Tossing the comforter off of me, I got out of bed and rummaged through our dirty laundry. I pulled out Harry’s red and white striped rugby shirt and held it to my face, breathing it in. Then I fell back into bed, drowning out the sounds of my sobs with Harry’s dirty shirt.

_And I won’t die alone_   
_and be left there._   
_Well I guess I’ll just go home,_   
_oh, God knows where._   
_Because death is just so full_   
_and man so small._   
_Well I’m scared of what’s behind_   
_and what’s before._

“Roxy, it’s Grace. Just wanted to talk. Call me back. I love you.”

“Hey Rox, it’s me. I haven’t talked to you since Christmas! That’s far too long not to talk to your best friend. Call me! Pippa wants to have another spa day. We can do it at your house! Okay, call me back!”

“Roxanna dear, this is Charles. I wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doing. Give me a ring when you feel up to it.”

“Hel- _lo_ , Roxy! This is _Pippa_ , your long lost _friend_. Where _are_ you? I haven’t been to reach you all week! Call me back for the love of God!” 

_And there will come a time, you’ll see,_   
_with no more tears,_   
_and love will not break your heart,_   
_but dismiss your fears._   
_Get over your hill and see_   
_what you find there_   
_with grace in your heart and_   
_flowers in your hair._

“Roxy. Roxy, wake up.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because every time I have this dream, I wake up, and you’re gone.”

“What? I’m not gone, I’m right here. I’m right next to you. Just open your eyes.”

Slowly, hoping against all hope, I opened one eye, then the other. My heart fell into the pit of my stomach, and then further down to my knees. I burrowed down into the bed, wanting to sink into the mattress and disappear. I’d been right. Harry was gone.

_And there will come a time, you’ll see,_   
_with no more tears,_   
_and love will not break your heart,_   
_but dismiss your fears._   
_Get over your hill and see_   
_what you find there_   
_with grace in your heart and_   
_flowers in your hair._


	88. But You're Miles Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I honestly didn’t know how many days had passed since Harry had left. It was all lost in the haze of the countless Xanax and Ambien I'd been using to put me to sleep. Mixing up my own drug cocktail probably wasn't the safest method of coping, but I couldn't stand to be awake. Eventually, on whatever day it was, I woke up from another heart-wrenching dream that Harry was home and sat up in bed, propping myself up on my arms. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my head felt like my skull was squeezing my brain, and my bladder felt like a cinderblock. Leaping out of bed, I made a mad dash for the toilet, letting out a relieved sigh. Peeing after holding it in for a long time was one of the best feelings ever. Having your boyfriend home and safe topped it, but I couldn’t have that, so I was going to have to settle for peeing.

I got up and washed my hands before catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It almost made me jump. The purple half-moons under my eyes were a sharp contrast to the rest of my nearly translucent skin. My black curls were matted to my head and thick with grease. I was pretty sure they’d become dreadlocks soon. And my breath…I gagged in my mouth before reaching for my toothbrush.

Since I was clearly in need of a shower, I turned the water on, and while the hot beads streamed down on me I opened my mouth and let out another relieved sigh. Warm and enveloped in steam, washing the past couple of days away in my cozy, cream-colored bathroom was another excellent feeling. Not as good as peeing, but it was up there.

_Okay_ , I reasoned with myself. _Harry is gone. And that sucks. But he_ specifically _said that he didn’t want you to be miserable for four months._ So I wasn’t going to be shouting from the rooftops anytime soon. I still had to pee, and shower, and brush my teeth. _Get it together, DeLaSearle, before you pull a Heath Ledger._ Given all of the drugs I’d been taking, it wasn’t wholly unlikely.

I got out of the shower, dried off, and pulled on a pair of jeans and Harry’s Sentebale hoodie. I never thought I’d miss the scent of Marlboro Lites, and yet, here I was, pining away. Holding the fabric up to my face, I took a deep breath before heading down to the kitchen.

Once I had ventured outside of the four walls of our bedroom, I was better able to get a grip on my current existence in time and space. It was definitely the afternoon. The afternoon of what day, I couldn’t tell you, but definitely the afternoon. Kate was at the table jotting down notes in her planner and eating a salad. William was making himself a sandwich. When I coughed the spider webs out of my throat, Kate visibly started before turning to me. “H…hey Roxy. How are you?” she asked carefully, like I was made of china and her voice was a hammer.

“I peed,” I offered, "and showered.”

William nodded. “That’s…good?”

“Do you want something to eat?” Kate asked.

Suddenly, I was starving. The spider that had been spinning webs together in my throat now gnawed on the insides of my stomach. “Yes,” I nodded, before opening the fridge. There were leftovers from this week’s dinners, and I didn’t even warm them up before taking a fork to the Tupperware container of spaghetti. 

Kate winced, obviously grossed out by this. “Do you want to microwave it?”

Shaking my head, I poured on some parmesan. “Do we have any bread?”

William chucked a dinner roll my way and I tore it in half before chomping down. He snickered, watching me hock it back, and Kate finally smiled. When I’d gone through the pasta, two rolls, half of Kate’s salad, and two brownies, I sat down at the table with them, chugging a diet Coke and letting out a loud burp. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge slowly turned to me, eyes as wide as the moon. “Sorry,” I blushed.

Kate tilted her head back and laughed, loudly. “Roxy, at this point, we don’t care what you’re doing, so long as you’re doing it out of bed.”

“Well I am out of bed. I’m out of hibernation and ready to eat my way across England. Let’s go to trivia night tonight.” I didn’t even know if it was trivia night.

“Sure,” Kate agreed. “I’ll call up Pippa and B, see if they want to come.”

“Brilliant,” I nodded, getting up and heading back upstairs.

“What are you going to do now?” Kate called after me.

“I’m going to try and go for a run. See if all of the muscles in my legs deteriorated.” 

***

The Middletons were big believers in exercise as therapy. _I_ was a big believer in exercise as torture, but even I had to admit that the run _did_ help. Without Harry, I had to get into a new routine. Wake up, morning run with Kate (well, morning run several feet behind Kate), breakfast, shower. It was after the shower that I lost direction. School was still out, so I had nowhere to go, and I _desperately_ needed something to fill up the time, or I’d fall back into hibernation. To try and combat this, I started exploring several new activities. Kate and I took kayaks out on a lake, I learned how to knit, I made elaborate dinners and desserts. I experimented with charcoal drawings (although Kate made me do them outside, saying that I got soot all over everything; I felt like Eddie with his finger paints), I went on shopping trips with Kate and the other girls and then organized the new additions to her wardrobe. Bianca and William talked me into getting on a horse (which wasn’t as scary as I’d thought, but I was definitely unwilling to go as fast as William did when he was playing polo). On some weekends, we all went to Kate's parents' house in Berkshire and I played tennis doubles with the Middleton siblings. And every time someone asked, “Where’s Harry?” I answered, “He’s out for work,” which was technically true.

The problem with keeping the secret wasn’t the press. The media had brokered a deal with Clarence House: Harry would give them access to him in Afghanistan for a news report that would air upon his return. So the tabloids weren’t going to point out that he’d stepped out of the public eye, but I couldn’t stop my friends from being suspicious. “Again?” B asked, when we had a wine night at Pippa’s apartment.

“Yeah. He’s just been super busy lately. You know…helicopters.” It didn’t make one ounce of sense, and Kate changed the subject.

I was actually just starting to like some of the hobbies I’d picked up, when it was time to go back to school. All the running and rowing with Kate had given me new muscles in my calves and biceps, and Madam lauded me for staying in shape over break instead of indulging in too many Christmas cookies. She said this in front of all the other girls, before adding, “Unlike some of your peers.” It was horrifying. A few girls looked like they wished the ground would split open and swallow them whole.

It definitely felt good to be dancing again, although I wasn’t able to throw myself into it the way I used to when I was under emotional duress. I wasn’t fighting with a friend or going through a break up. This was just a little too much to “dance it out.” My technique and skills didn’t get worse, it just wasn’t helping in the therapeutic way it used to. Mostly I was just relieved to be getting back into my usual routine. 

At the end of our first week back, Madam held us after our Saturday morning conditioning class. “Ladies, as you know, June will be your last spring workshop as RBA students. I want to insist again that this will be the most important performance of your lives to date. We will be holding auditions as usual, but the entire spring term will be seen as an audition. Monsieur will be stopping by, and the two of us will be keeping a close eye on you. Now is _not_ the time to slack off.” I wasn't sure how necessary it was to remind us of this. I hadn’t slacked off once in three years! Okay, well _just_ once, and I’d learned my lesson.

I was packing up my dance bag and looking forward to zoning out and listening to my music on the train ride home when Olivia asked, “Roxy?”

I probably should have tried to hide my exasperated sigh a little bit better...or, you know, at all. “Oh, hey Olivia.”

“Hey! So I transferred in for spring semester!” Why was she always so excited about everything? And why was she on the third-year floor?

“Hm. Great.”

Olivia didn’t catch on to the fact that I clearly could have not cared any less about this. “Thanks! So I was thinking, I mean, I know you’re super busy, but I thought, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could give me some tips on spring shop?”

What? What was she even asking? I’d just been told that the next few months were the most important of my entire career, and my boyfriend was in the center of Hell, and now she wanted me to babysit her? “Um…you know, I’m probably gonna be really busy this term.”

“Right. Well…I was just thinking, if you had any extra time…” I wanted to snap, “I won’t,” at her, but somehow I held it in. “Why don’t we just exchange numbers, and we can see if we can set up a time?”

_That_ was hilarious. “I really don’t give out my number.”

Olivia smacked her forehead. “Duh! Of course not! Okay, well…if you ever _do_ have some time, I’ll be here. I’m living in the dorms now. 15B.”

“15B?” I asked.

“Mhm,” Olivia confirmed. When I nodded slowly, she asked, “Is…why? Is it like, bad luck or something?”

Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, I answered, “Not in my experience. That was my old room.”

***

I was getting in some extra practice hours one night when my phone rang in my bag. The shrill notes echoed throughout the studio, and the two other girls sharing the room with me glared. “Sorry,” I winced, rummaging around for my phone in my dance bag. “Hello?” I asked, not checking the number in an effort to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

“Yes, Roxanna, this is Charles.”

_Shit._ “Oh, hello. I’m so sorry I haven’t returned your call, Your Royal Highness. I’ve been so busy at school.” For some reason, I felt even guiltier giving Harry’s dad this excuse than I did giving it to anyone else.

“That’s quite all right, Roxanna. You know, one day you’re going to simply call me Charles. If I Harry had his way, you’d be calling me Papa by now.” I wasn’t sure how to handle this comment. I had assumed that the conversations about marriage between Harry and I had been private, just between us. Apparently he had been serious enough about it to talk to his father. Thankfully, Charles went on. “I was hoping you might join William and my dear Catherine for Sunday dinner.”

Ugh. Sunday dinner meant a church service and time spent with Harry’s stepmother, but it would be a total dick move to decline. “Yes, that would be lovely, Your Royal – “

“ _Charles_ , Roxanna. _Charles_.” Before I could express to him that it would be a cold day in Hell before I addressed him so informally, he hung up.

“Hey Roxy!”

Jesus Christ! Did this chick have some sort of Roxy Tracking Device? “Hi.” I didn’t even bother to give her a fake smile. Why wouldn’t she just leave me alone?

“So, I talked to Madam about you sort of being a mentor, and she thought it would be a great idea.”

“Olivia, I told you, I’m busy.”

“Well she said that she could give us some time in a studio after Saturday conditioning. I thought it would be easier for you to schedule me in if we had a specific time.”

“It’s not,” I snapped. Olivia blinked and I absolutely hated the fact that I felt guilty. “I mean…I’ll just have to see if I have time. I have to be at Harry’s dad’s this weekend.” Okay, so I was name-dropping, but I only did it when I _really_ had to get out of something, which was true of this situation.

If I had been talking to a British person, they would have most likely felt uncomfortable at the mere mention of their future king, and then would have awkwardly ended the conversation. Even Madam got uncomfortable when I casually brought up Harry's family, and she'd known a lot of them far longer than I had. It didn’t work at all on Olivia. “Fun! So do you think you’ll have any time next week?”

Okay, this conversation was over. “I’ll let you know.” I went back into the studio, grabbed my dance bag, and left. I had absolutely no intention of “letting her know.”

***

“She’s just so _annoying_ ,” I vented to Will and Kate over dinner the next night. “And, I realize the irony here, but she’s so _American_. She’s loud, she’s boisterous, she can’t take a hint.”

Kate snickered. “Roxy, she’s seventeen.”

“So? I wasn’t that obnoxious when I was in my first year.” Then, dreading the answer, I asked, “Was I?”

Shrugging, Kate answered, “You never bothered me.”

“And,” William chimed in, “you’re sure you’re not just a _little_ jealous?”

I scoffed. “Jealous? Jealous of what? Of some little girl who can't take social cues? No, I'm not jealous. I just want her to go back to where ever she came from. Or leave me alone. Or get hit by a double decker.”

Will and Kate gave one another a private look, and I knew they were both thinking that, despote my protestations, I was, in fact, just jealous.

***

I was going to meet up with the Cambridges at Highgrove, Prince Charles’s estate, on Saturday after school. THe grounds were just beautiful, and since it wasn't a residence of the Crown, it was a little easier to relax there. I was relieved to get out of conditioning, and was walking out the front doors of school when Madam stopped me. “Leaving so soon, Miss DeLaSearle?”

Surprised, I asked, “Was I supposed to be staying after, Madam?”

She shrugged. “I just thought you might have been spending some time with our new student, Miss Guest. She told me that she asked to you show her the ropes. I think it would be a lovely idea, considering how similar you two are.”

Through a tight smile, I corrected her, “Oh, we’re not that similar.”

Madam ignored this statement. “We see a lot of potential in Olivia. You know how rarely we take on new pupils for spring term. She’s one of our most promising students.” Hearing Madam use the same phrase about Olivia that she’d used about me to my mother over Christmas was like a stab in the heart.

_I want Harry._

Before the tears started flowing right then and there, I blurted out, “I have to get going. I’ve got a…a thing. With the Prince of Wales. At Highgrove.”

Madam raised an eyebrow and gave me a once over. “Well then, don’t let me keep you.” Okay, she clearly knew I was just saying this to try and get out of there.

“ _Merci, Madam_.”

I was just pushing the front door open when Madam called after me, “I would be very grateful if you took her under your wing, Roxanna.”

Blushing from shame, I mumbled, “ _Oui, Madam_ ,” and left the building.


	89. I Will Wait

Highgrove wasn’t originally a royal property - Prince Charles had personally bought the estate, which at first had only included the house and some land. Over the years, he’d purchased more and more of the surrounding property, and now Highgrove was an entire estate. Given that, combined with Prince Charles’s growing interest in the Green Movement and sustainable farming, Highgrove had become a fully functional, entirely sustainable piece of land. Everything – the eggs, the beef, the flowers in vases scattered around the house – was farmed or grown at Highgrove. There was a full-size pond for fishing or taking out row boats; lands for hunting; stables full of horses for playing polo and ample acres on which to practice. Not only was it an aesthetically beautiful place, it also had the advantage of being outside of the city, completely cut off from the rest of the world, which was exactly what I needed at the moment. 

Another bonus about Highgrove was that, since it wasn’t a traditional royal residence, it didn’t have the awful, creepy staff lurking around, giving a filthy commoner like me the stink-eye. There were housekeepers, cooks, and a groundskeeper, but there were no men in grey suits. The groundskeeper's name was Johnny Miller and he was a sweet old widower. I thought he should probably be retired, but every time Prince Charles even suggested it, Johnny just laughed and told him he’d be groundskeeper until his legs gave out or God took him from the earth. On Saturday afternoon, after I’d more or less run away from Madam, Johnny met me at the door. “Hello there, Roxy. Wonderful weather today, ain’t it?”

“It is, Johnny,” I agreed. It was unseasonably warm for early February in England. “Where is everyone?”

“Their Royal Highnesses are all out hunting. Thought they’d get it outta the way before you got here,” he grinned. I wasn’t a hunter, much to the chagrin of…well, everyone.

“Oh, okay. Good plan. I think I’m gonna go take a bath. Can you just call up when they get in?” Yes, the bathrooms in these places had phones. Other than this specific instance, I wasn’t really sure why that was necessary, but Harry and William thought they were hilarious.

“Course, Miss,” Johnny assured me, and I took my bags up to Harry’s bedroom. When the door shut behind me, I stood there for a second with my eyes closed. I could practically feel him there in the room with me, standing next to me within the dark green walls, at the foot of the bed with a cream-colored down comforter. It was Irish Spring, cigarette smoke, Burberry cologne, and just a little bit of the scent of Harry’s skin. I felt his hands on me, his breath on my neck, heard him whisper my name. 

When I opened my eyes back up, my vision was blurry with stinging tears. Letting them freely tumble out from behind my eyelids, I opened a drawer of Harry’s dresser. Folded inside were all the things he hadn’t needed to take with him, including a grey cashmere sweater that was one of my favorites. When I pulled open another drawer, I found all of his socks piled up, and in the next his boxers, including a hot pink pair I’d gotten him as a joke. Something in the boxer drawer caught my eye and I reached in to get it. It was the corner of a thick white envelope. Frowning, I pulled the envelope out and shook out the contents. 

All at the same time, my heart pounded in the pit of my stomach, the lump in my throat suddenly grew into a boulder, and I wasn’t sure if I could breathe, my body felt white hot, except on my knees and elbows, which were completely numb. There were dozens of unpublished pictures of Harry with his mother. In one, she held a small, red-head toddler in her lap, kissing the top of his head as he reached up to her face. In another, she helped him blow out the candles on a birthday cake. There was one of her holding him upside down by his ankles, Harry red-faced and cracking up. The backs of them were all dated – Harry and Mummy, 1991; Harry and Mummy, 7thbirthday. I probably shouldn’t have been looking at them. It felt like I was spying on my own boyfriend. But since Harry wasn’t here to stop me, and because the ache in my heart was too severe to allow me to look away, I kept fingering the photographs. My fingers fumbled and I took in a sharp breath when I got to the last ones. 

Harry and I on the London Eye during our first date. Just at the moment the picture was being taken, Harry had said something funny, and we were facing each other, laughing. The next one was from New Year’s Eve, when Harry had come back to Jersey to meet my family. We were outside on the balcony of our hotel room, freezing cold, arms wrapped around each other inside Harry’s jacket for warmth. The last one had been taken shortly after Harry and I had gotten back together. Bianca had taken it one night when we were all just sitting around KP hanging out. I was holding a glass of wine. Harry’s hand was on my knee. We were beaming at each other, our faces inches apart. We weren’t doing anything special, we weren’t wearing fancy clothes. We were just being together. 

Two things stood out in all of these pictures. The first was that, just like in the pictures of Harry with his mother, the genuine happiness was practically palpable. It leapt out of the photograph at me, making me smile, even though I wasn’t there and wasn’t in on the joke. This handful of photographs captured some of the happiest memories Harry ever had, and I was in them. The second thing I noticed was the way we looked at each other. William and Kate had this way of sharing these looks – looks that let everyone around them know that the two of them had their own, silent language. They knew the ins and outs of each other’s minds. They could tell each other everything, just from a split-second glance. I’d always admired this about them, had wondered when I would get to know someone so well that I could have that mind-reading ability. I remembered when I’d told Kate that it was like Harry and I didn’t even really know each other, because we’d never been in a stable, solid place. But I was wrong, and all of the envy I’d felt about Will and Kate’s secret looks had been for nothing. Because here they were in front of me, as clear as day, from our very first date. Harry and I had had them all along.

***

After I’d soaked in the tub for longer than was necessary, the phone rang letting me know that the royals had returned from the hunt. Dinner was going to be at seven, and Prince Charles and Camilla always had drinks in the sitting room before. I got out of the bath, dried off, and got dressed. As relaxed as Highgrove was by comparison to other Windsor residences, that didn't mean that I could just wear my usual jeans and a t-shirt. Heading into the closet, I turned on the light and rummaged through the clothes. I had clothes at pretty much every royal estate; Kensington, Clarence House, Highgrove. It was annoying to have to pack a bag every time I went somewhere for the weekend. Plus, I never wore this stuff except for when I had to be at these places. I pulled my navy turtleneck dress off the hanger, rolled on a pair of black pantyhose, and slipped into some black patent leather flats before making my way down to the sitting room for drinks. 

Prince Charles and Camilla were sitting on one couch, drinking gin and tonics. William was sipping a scotch and Kate had a glass of white wine. I curtsied when I walked into the room and Kate got up, pouring me a glass as well. I sat in the armchair next to her and asked, “So how was the hunt?”

“Good. William bagged an eight pointer,” Prince Charles told me. 

I had no idea what that meant. “Oh, nice.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to learn to shoot, Roxanna?” Camilla asked. “The _whole_ family does it. You’ll have nothing to do when the rest of the family is all out hunting.”

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to pass the time,” I assured her. I hadn't realized until this very moment that apparently not liking to hunt was the worst thing I could possibly do. 

“Roxy’s recently taken up a lot of new hobbies,” Kate spoke up. “She knitted me a scarf the other day.”

Camilla laughed. “Was it wearable?”

Kate blinked at this awkward question before answering, “Yes, it was lovely.”

Dinner felt like it went on forever. I tried to eat as much as I could possibly fit into my mouth and stomach so that no one would ask me questions, and so that I couldn’t snap back at any of Camilla’s passive-aggressive comments. These included, but were not limited to, “Everyone’s upset about Harry being in Afghanistan. It would just be selfish for one of us to think we’re taking it harder than the rest,” with a pointed look at me. Kate gave my knee a squeeze under the table while I silently fumed with a mouth full of shepherd’s pie.

After dessert, the five of us headed into the drawing room for a nightcap. I told the rest of them that I was tired and was about to make my exit when Charles stood up. “Just a moment, Roxanna. I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Gulping and automatically afraid of whatever was about to come next, I nodded. “Yes, of course.”

He opened the door for me and led me down a hallway into a library. He motioned for me to sit in the leather armchair across from him, and I did, crossing my legs at the ankles. Prince Charles took a sip of his drink and I waited for him to start, feeling incredibly awkward. “Harry told me about the discussions you two have been having about marriage.”

Nodding slowly, I acknowledged, “Oh.” Harry was really close with his father, understandably, but I couldn't help but wonder if it had been necessary to fill him in on this topic. It wasn't like we'd ever gotten serious about it. “Well, I think he was only really bringing it up so soon so that I could have more information about his deployment.”

“Right. He also told me that you were quite reluctant to agree to anything.”

Oh God. Was I in trouble? Was he going to demand to know why his son wasn't good enough for a nobody from nowhere? Clearing my throat, I answered, “Mhm.”

Prince Charles smiled at me. “I have to admit I was relieved to hear it.” Oh, thank the Lord. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to hear your reservations about getting married.”

“Um…sure,” I agreed to this odd request. “Well, I’m pretty young to be thinking about marriage. I want to be able to dance first. I mean, I’ve been doing it my whole life. It’s the only thing I’m good at, it’s the only thing I know. The only thing I love more than dancing is Harry.” 

Prince Charles gave me a kind smile. “You see Roxanna, I know that before William proposed to Catherine, he was quite worried about my marriage to his mother.” Okay, this conversation was getting weirder by the second. “I wouldn’t want you to be afraid because of the way things turned out between Diana and I.”

“Oh, I’m…that’s not…I’m fine,” I gulped, only half-lying. I was partly worried because of Harry’s parents’ divorce, but my parents had also divorced. The combination of the two of our histories, plus getting married this young just didn’t seem like a great idea right now. 

Prince Charles nodded, seeing right through me. “I just wanted to make sure you know that if you and Harry _do_ get married, you won’t have the same problems Diana and I had. You see, she was…she was looking for something I could never give her. When we got married, she didn’t have the self-confidence she gained later on in life. You would never have that problem.”

“I’m not sure about that,” I shrugged. Prince Charles was the first person who had ever said (and probably thought) that I had a reasonable amount of self-confidence. 

“Well I am. You are a bright, beautiful young girl who just happens to be dating the man third in line to the throne, not the other way around.” That was true enough. That was constantly how I thought of myself, especially during the first year that Harry and I were dating. I was just a socially awkward girl from New Jersey, why was I dating HRH Prince Henry of Wales? Even now, my dancing came first in my life. Didn't that mean I wasn't doing it right? Breaking through my thoughts, Prince Charles stood up. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He took three great strides over to the door of the library and opened it before turning back to me. “Although, I do have to say, Roxanna, that if it doesn’t happen eventually, I’ll be rather broken hearted.”

I smiled at him and bowed my head, blushing. “So will I, Your Royal Highness.”

He shook his head. “ _Charles_ , Roxanna.”

***

The only boyfriend I had before Harry had been a guy in high school. He was a total loser; a drummer in a band, and we only dated for three months. Those three months had not included February and, to date, I had never had a Valentine’s Day to remember. Last year, I was dating a guy I had recently compared to chicken. The year before that, I got drunk with Bianca and watched horror movies. So in the three years that Harry and I had known each other, we’d never actually spent Valentine’s Day together, because we’d never actually _been_ together in a relationship on Valentine’s Day. So it was just my luck that the year we finally had our shit together, we were physically separated. “I have the absolute worst luck,” I lamented to Kate the Monday after our weekend at Highgrove, flopping down on the couch.

“It’s not really luck though, is it? When you weren’t together the last two years you weren’t together because…I don’t know why, actually. I just remember that it was something stupid.”

“Hey! Last year was totally legitimate. The _first_ year it was stupid.” Not exactly a good counterpoint. “And that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to die old and alone with lots of cats and I’ll be a spinster.”

“Roxy.”

“I’m the Edith Crawley of the four of us!” I said, meaning the two of us, B, and Pippa.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the Mary Bennett!”

Kate stood up. “Okay, I have to pick out a dress for the Boodles Ball. I’m not going to be around for this madness.”

As she walked upstairs to her bedroom, I called after her, “I’ll just be here, growing old, waiting for the cats to find me!”

“What are you on about now?” William asked, coming in through the garage.

“Oh, nothing, just my sad and lonely life.”

He seemingly ignored this comment. “Why aren’t you still at school? I thought you were practicing more for spring workshop.”

Embarrassed, I mumbled, “I’m hiding from Madam and Olivia.”

Shaking his head, William declared, “I’m not going to be around for this insanity,” and went upstairs to find his wife.

“That’s fine! I’ll just be here, starting my slow descent into madness!”

“Pretty sure you’ve already descended,” William called back down.

With a huff, I muttered to no one (proving his point) “I’d be angrier about that if it wasn’t true.”

***

Even at school it was impossible to escape Valentine’s Day. A bunch of girls were gossiping about the cute things their boyfriends had done. They wore pink or red ballet skirts to class. One girl even had a huge bouquet, with balloons and a teddy bear delivered in geography class. That was just unnecessary. Bitterly, I reminded myself that Valentine’s Day was a stupid holiday anyway, and that when I got home I’d be able to pop open a bottle of wine and stuff my face with the red velvet cupcakes Kate had made and cry in front of chick flicks. The Cambridges were spending the night at KP, understandably, and I was glad that I could wallow in my self-pity alone. The only thing more embarrassing than my lame Valentine’s Day plans would be them playing out in front of the heir to the throne. 

Since Bianca wasn’t at school with me, I didn’t even have anyone to share my misery with, and even if she had been there, I still wasn’t allowed to tell her about Harry’s deployment. To my surprise, she wasn’t even in the mood to bash Cupid with me this year. “What are you so cheery about?” I asked over the phone on the way to the train station.

“Cheery? I wouldn’t say I’m cheery…”

“Okay, well then why are you whatever adjective you’d use to describe yourself at the moment?”

Bianca paused. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Slowly, I agreed, “Okay…”

“I have a date.”

I literally stopped in my tracks. “ _What_?!”

Bianca cautiously repeated, “I…have a date?”

“When did this happen? With who? On _Valentine’s Day_? How did I miss this?” I needed to relax. I sounded more like I was interrogating someone than being an interested friend.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d make a big thing out of it and I wasn’t really sure how it was going to go so…I just didn’t tell you,” she explained. 

With a sigh of relief, I asked, “So it wasn’t just me being a shitty friend?” Laughing, Bianca assured me that it wasn’t, which made me feel a little better. Last year, at the height of Bianca’s eating disorder, she’d lashed out at me, accusing me of being a bad friend because I hadn’t known about Paul. It had felt terrible, mostly because there was some truth to it. I couldn’t have known unless she’d told me, of course, but I still felt awful for not putting the pieces together myself, and for telling her for over a year to stop being such a drama queen, that her step-father couldn’t be _that_ bad. I would have felt like a total dick if I’d missed another big thing in her life. “Okay, good. So who is this guy? Would I like him? Because if not, you know you have no future with him."

“Um…well…you like him, yes.”

I frowned. “What do you mean I like him? Have I met him?”

Again, Bianca sounded cautious and nervous. “You’ve…met him. Um…you kind of know him.”

Narrowing my eyes, I demanded, “Okay B, spit it out. Who’s the guy?”

There was a long pause before she slowly revealed, “It’s Piers.”

“ _What_?! Piers? Piers _Ryan_? _Our_ Piers?” Piers was one of Harry’s best friends since primary school. He and Bianca had known each other as kids, too, but I didn’t know they knew each other _that_ well…which I guess it why they were going on dates.

“Roxy, can you stop shouting about my love life on the streets of London?”

“Oh, right.” Quickly, I checked to make sure there was no paparazzi around. Seeing that there wasn’t, I continued on to the train station. “ _You’re_ going on a date with _Piers_ on _Valentine’s Day_. Kind of a serious night for a first date, don’t you think?”

“It’s not exactly our first date…”

“God damn it, Bianca! How many dates?”

“Seven.”

“ _Seven dates_?! Any other _huge_ bombs you wanna drop right now?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” Bianca answered, sounding guilty.

Lowering my voice to a whisper, I asked, “Have you slept with him?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s important to take this slow with my recovery and everything.”

“Good. I think that’s a good choice. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with Piers. He’s…cool, I guess." He was; he was a good friend to Harry, he had a stable job, he was smart, he'd once answered a panicked phone call from me at 4am the night before the royal wedding. I just didn't know how all of that translated in the context of dating my best friend. "How did this even happen?”

“Well, when I was in hospital, he sent me flowers and we started talking more after you and Harry got back together. He knew what I was dealing with and asked a lot of questions and was willing to take things slow. Apparently he was too afraid to say anything all these years, but when I was in hospital he finally got the courage to speak up.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet! So, do you think you like him?”

Bianca sighed. “It’s difficult. My impulse is to say yes, but then I don’t know if it’s that or if I just like the idea of someone liking me.”

“I guess it’s good that you’re taking it slow, then.” I paused before reiterating, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, you slut.”

***

“All by myself!” I sang loudly, opening my front door. “Don’t wanna be all by myself anymore!” I stopped my belting, shut the door behind me, and made a beeline for the wine rack. It took me a couple of steps, but after a few paces I stopped, noticing something on the ground. They were rose petals? No, not rose petals…Kneeling down, I tried to identify the flower they’d been plucked from. When I couldn’t, I called out, “Will! Kate! I thought you were spending the night at KP!” Not too surprisingly, they wanted to spend Balentine's night alone. Pausing, I waited for them to respond. The only sound that came back to me was the echo of my own voice. “Guys?” They still didn’t answer and I frowned. The flower petals were in a path and I peered around the open house before shrugging. If Kate hadn’t found William’s surprise yet, there was no reason I couldn’t take a peek…

The flower petals led to the bottom of the stairs, where they kept going up. Again, I looked around in the empty house, like I was going to be caught at any second. “Guys? Will? Kate?” I shouted. Again, I got no answer, and kept climbing the stairs. The flower petals were leading into the Cambridge’s bedroom, but the door was wide open. Just for good measure, I knocked and stuck my head in the room. Nope, no one. In fact, it still smelled faintly of Kate’s perfume, making me think the two of them had just left.

Cautiously, _very_ aware of the fact that I didn’t want to break anything _and_ that I was trespassing, I tiptoed into the bedroom. The flowers went through the bedroom to Kate’s dressing hall. Still snooping, I followed the petals, pushing open the door of the dressing hall.

The first thing I saw was the dress. It looked like a waterfall of shiny, brand new pennies. It was on a hanger, and fell, gentle and twinkling, all the way to the plush carpet. The neckline and cap sleeves had detailing, thicker than the rest of the dress, in the shape of tiny flowers. It was exactly the sort of dress that would look beautiful on Kate. _Good job, Wills_ , I thought. 

That thought, however, was too soon. In front of the dress, on Kate’s dressing table, were two long gold, lit candles, on either side of an orange teddy bear. In front of it was a framed picture of Harry in his fatigues, holding a hand-made sign that read, “Happy Valentine’s Day Fox!” Across the bear’s lap was a thin white envelope with _Roxanna_ written across it in Harry’s quick, cramped handwriting. My heart leapt to my throat, plummeted down to the pit of my stomach, and flew back up to my chest. It was now both swelling and being slowly torn apart in its cavity. More than ever before, I wanted him here next to me. I wanted him to see how I was blushing and getting splotchy, even though there was no one around. I knew he’d pull me into him with his mischievous smirk, kissing the top of my head, and ask, “Are you happy, my darling girl?” Wiping away my tears of both soaring happiness and cavernous sadness, I reached out for the envelope.

_Fox –_

_One day, we_ will _spend Valentine’s Day together. Until then, I can only promise you a rain check that involves wearing this dress. And believe me, it did not cost $40 and it is not from Top Shop._

_I miss you. I love you with everything._

_Xoxo,_

_Harry_

_P.S. – The bear is named Barry. I told him he can cuddle with you since I can’t._

Completely unable to control my crying, I reached down and held the bear to my chest. Harry must have sprayed it with his cologne, because it smelled just like him. Looking down, I noticed the bouquet of flowers that had been hidden behind Barry. So that’s what the flower petals were – the same flowers in the vase, the same flowers Harry had sent to me last year after the Diana concert, the same flowers he’d sent two years ago when he’d first come to see me dance, the same flowers he’d pointed out to me in Regent’s Park on our very first date – they were daffodils.


	90. Royal Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Wait for it…wait for it…” I repeated as Kate zipped up the dress. It was the weekend after Valentine's Day and I'd invited Pippa and B over to see the dress. I'd never owned anything even remotely like it, and the fact that Harry, William, and Kate had all worked on the surprise made it even more special to me. “Okay, prepare to be shocked and awed.” 

When I came out of the dressing hall, Bianca and Pippa had the exact same look on their faces. Their mouths fell open, their eyes widened, they tilted their heads to the side and let out an, “Ooh.” “Isn’t it the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” I beamed at them.

“By far. Definitely makes up for missing Valentine’s Day,” Bianca confirmed from where she and Pippa were perched on the edge of Kate’s bed. Taking a sip of wine, she asked, “Where is he again?”

“He’s on base,” I answered automatically. It wasn't a total lie. He was on a base...  
B and Pippa blinked at each other, then back at Kate and I. “Okay, but where is he _really_?” Pippa asked.

“What are you talking about? He’s flying,” Kate took over, which was good, because I was about to break. “Okay Rox, out of the dress before you spill something on it.” Taking my hand, she yanked me into the dressing hall, hissing, “What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them anything!” I hissed back. “They haven’t seen him since before Christmas. Don’t you think it’s possible that they’re putting two and two together on their own?”

With a huff, Kate unzipped my glittering gold dress (which had most certainly not cost forty quid, as it was a Jenny Packham). We didn’t have time to discuss this anymore because Bianca and Pippa continued their line of questioning. “Guys, we haven’t seen him in three months. There’s no way he’s been flying helicopters that whole time.”

“He’s been out on engagements,” I lied.

“Where?" Bianca asked from Kate's bed. "We haven’t seen any pictures."  
“Make them stop!” I hissed at Kate.

“He’s flying,” she insisted again. “We’ll call him right now if you don’t believe us.”

“Kate!" I clutched my heart. What if they said yes?

“Don’t worry, I’m bluffing.”

“That’s why I’m worried!”

From the other side of the door, Pippa muttered, “If you say so,” obviously unconvinced. 

“You know,” Bianca pointed out, “the last time we didn’t see him for this long he was on crack.”

“Hey!” I snapped, bursting out of the dressing hall only in pants and my bra. “He was never on crack!” Bianca and Pippa both raised an eyebrow. ”He was on _heroin_.”

Bianca held her hands up in surrender and Kate threw my shirt at me before changing the subject. “So, B, how are things going with Piers?”

Bianca glared at me. “Roxy! You told them?”

With a wince, I asked, “I wasn’t supposed to?”

“No!”

“Oh. Well…I did.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Hey! Why can’t we know?” Pippa asked her, offended. 

Shrugging, Bianca explained, “I just don’t want it to be a big deal.”

Pippa laughed and gave her a playful shove. “You’re making it a big deal by being weird!” We snickered at her assertion. “Ugh. Now if you’re with Piers, I’ll be the only single one.”

“See, Pippa’s the Edith Crawley and the Mary Bennett, not you,” Kate tried to cheer me up with a smirk.

Pippa scoffed. “Try Samantha Jones. I don’t _want_ to be in a relationship.’  
“But look at all the pretty dresses you get,” I gestured behind us to Kate’s dressing hall which, at the moment, was holding my Jenny Packham.

“Oh, well, in that case, maybe I will get one of those boyfriend people.” We giggled and Pippa asked, “So, now that the worst day ever is over, does anyone have plans for the _best_ day ever?”

“What’s the best day ever?” I asked, sipping my wine.

“St. Patrick’s Day!” Pippa answered, like it should have been obvious.

“Oh, right, silly me.”

“So?” she asked. “Plans?”

Kate nodded. “William and I are visiting the Irish Guards.”

Pippa waved a hand. “You couldn’t come anyway.”

“Come where?” Bianca inquired.

“The publishing company for my book set up a signing in Dublin that weekend. You guys should come!”

Bianca looked to me and I looked to Kate. “Do you think that’s okay?”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Would you miss class?” Bianca asked.

I shook my head. “No, actually. We have a long weekend before the spring shop auditions. What about you, B? Up for a trip to the Emerald Isle?”

Grinning, Bianca nodded. “Yeah. Dublin. Let’s do it.”

***

The keys to getting through this deployment were to keep occupying my mind, and to look forward to something. Now with our trip to Dublin coming up, I had something more to look forward to than getting home from school and working on the scarf I was making for William, or the charcoal drawing I was working on of Elvis, neither of which would be on display in a museum any time soon…Plus, St. Patrick’s Day meant it was March, which meant it was closer to May, and closer to Harry coming home. 

I was also looking forward to the shopping trip the three of us were going on Saturday after conditioning class to buy new clothes for Dublin. Not that I (or any of us) neded them but again, it was something to take up the time. On Thursday I was leaving school, thinking about where I wanted to go first – Whistles or Top Shop – when Madam and Olivia stopped me right outside the front doors of school. “Roxanna.”

Pulling my ear buds out, I forced out a smile at Madam, ignoring Olivia. “ _Bonjour Madam_.”

“Olivia and I wanted to see when a good time for you to practice with her was. The two of you could work on your spring shop auditions together this weekend.”

“Ooh, actually, I sort of have plans this weekend,” I told them, feigning regret. Then, to make it look more legit, I lied, “With the Prince of Wales.”

Madam raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have had a lot of plans with the Prince of Wales lately. I’m sure he would be understanding of your school schedule.”

Damn. Madam obviously knew I was lying, or else she would _never_ suggest that I blow off Prince Charles. Was she spying on me or something? Deflating, I nodded. “Yeah. Um…sure.”

“Good. Then you can meet Olivia on Saturday after conditioning.”

“Is that okay?” Olivia asked.

No, it was not okay. In fact, I had been telling her it was not okay since she’d first suggested this stupid, pointless idea to me. Not only had she kept bothering me about it, but she’d told Madam, and now she had gotten her to gang up on me. What was her point in the first place? Why did Olivia feel entitled to my time, or my help? I hadn't had anyone to help me when I was doing my first spring shop audition, but I'd nailed it and gotten a part because that was what was expected of me. And what exactly did Madam think I could get out of this? 89779yfx`I'd become one of the best god damn dancers at the entire academy, by her own admission, and I'd done it through nothing but hard work and determination, to the detriment of my personal life at times. And now I had to hold someone else's hand, someone who had pushed her way into my school, my friends, my life? Eventaully, through grit teeth and a fake smile, I pushed out, “It’s fine.” 

“Great!” Olivia beamed at me. “See you Saturday!”

I didn’t even bother with a fake smile as I continued on to the train station.

*** 

After conditioning on Saturday, I went down to the first-year floor to meet Olivia in one of the practice studios. For all this time she’d been pissing me off, I actually hadn’t ever seen her dance. When I got to the studio, she was at the barre, focusing on her extension, her strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a bun. My eyes widened as she lifted her foot so high that her knee was practically pressed up against her ear. I could do this, too, but it had taken a lot of work, and I certainly hadn’t been able to do it my first year. I dropped my dance bag loudly and Olivia jumped, sloppily coming out of her extension. “Roxy! You scared me!” she breathed out, clutching her chest.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “That’s a pretty good extension you’ve got there.”

Olivia’s face turned as red as her hair. “Thanks.”

I held up a finger, silencing her. “Just a second. I have to call Kate. We were supposed to go shopping today but I have to do _this_ instead.” Not only was I name-dropping, but I was also letting Olivia know that, if not for Madam, I wouldn’t be here right now. 

“Oh. Um…sure,” Olivia nodded.

Fishing my cell out of my purse, I called Pippa, who already knew that I wasn’t showing up today. Whatever, Olivia would never know. “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I can’t make the shopping trip today.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pippa said slowly. “We already talked about it.”

“I _know_ , it totally sucks. For some reason Madam wants me to stay here and help a first-year with her spring shop audition.”

“Roxy? Have you completely lost it?”

Letting out a tense, fake laugh, I responded, “You’re too funny! I’ll see you at home. Give William a hug for me.”

“Okay, seriously, I’m starting to get worried.”

“Bye!” I hung up and two seconds later my phone beeped with a text message from Pippa. _WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY MAD?!_ I texted back, _Sorry, I’ll explain later_ and turned back to Olivia. “So…what did you want to do?”

Olivia gulped. “Well, I wanted to show you my spring shop piece and get some pointers.”

Looking exactly as bored as I felt, I searched the room for a chair to sit on. I pulled one out from the corner, sat in front of the mirror in the space usually occupied by Madam, and waited for Olivia to start. Instead, she just stood in front of me, wringing her hands, looking anxious. Not feeling even a little guilty, I snapped, “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

Jumping to life, Olivia mumbled something under her breath, blushed, and pressed play on the CD player in the room. The _Waltz of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ started up and I felt my blood instantly start to boil. She was at _my_ school. She was flirting with _my_ boyfriend. She was apparently besties with _my_ pas de deux partner. And now she was using _my_ dance for her spring shop audition. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I asked loudly over the music.

Stopping her dance in the middle of a burre across the floor, Olivia’s arms fell to her sides as she came down on her flat feet. For a few seconds, she just stood there, blinking at me and opening and closing her mouth. “Wh…what’s wrong?” 

Shrugging, I answered, “Nothing. Other than the fact that you’re using the most boring and cliché dance of all time for your audition piece.” 

Olivia stammered out, “But…but you did that piece at the Princess Diana concert.” 

“Yeah, because it's popular. I never would have done it for an audition. Madam and Monsieur have seen that piece literally _millions_ of times. Do you _honestly_ think that you’re going to be the best dancer they’ve ever seen do it?” 

“No, I guess not,” Olivia mumbled, embarrassed and looking down at her hands. 

Standing up, I pulled my dance bag onto my shoulder. “Great. Did you have anything else prepared or are we done here?” Olivia shook her head and I left the practice studio, calling Pippa and B and telling them to meet me to go shopping. 

“I thought you had to practice?” Bianca asked. 

“No, that’s over. _Way_ over.” And it wouldn’t happen again, if I had my way. 

*** 

“Can you _believe_ that?” I asked Kate at the Tesco on Sunday. “She had the _nerve_ to pick that as her audition piece. I mean, does she just want to tear my skin off and wear me like a coat so she could just have my life?” 

“Probably,” Kate sarcastically confirmed, looking at a chicken wrapped in plastic and placing it in the cart. 

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Can you be serious for a minute here? 

“Can you?” she responded as we made our way down the cereal aisle. 

“What does that mean?” I asked, tossing a box of Wheetabix in the cart. 

Kate picked up a box of oatmeal, checked the nutrition info, and then put it back on the shelf. “The girl clearly chose that piece because it’s what you did at the Concert for Diana. She looks up to you. Why do you hate her so much for it?” 

I opened and closed my mouth for a few seconds. “Hello! Did you miss the part where she was flirting with Harry at the Christmas party?” 

Kate gave me a flat look. “And you don’t think there’s a _slight_ chance that you’re exaggerating?” 

“Kate, she did this.” I mimicked Olivia’s giggle and arm-touching. “That’s classic flirting behavior!” 

“Or it’s Harry saying something funny,” she countered. “I understand that she might be a little annoying, it just seems like you have no _real_ reason for disliking her, at least not to the extent that you do.” 

I was about to remind Kate of Bianca's offenses, but as we finished walking the length of the cereal aisle and were turning into the snack section, _The Mail on Sunday_ on the rack near the check out caught my eye. My jaw dropped open and I reached out for it. On the cover was a picture of me, and it looked like I was shouting. I had no idea where the picture was from, but I was certain that it had been taken out of context. I’d never looked that angry in public. Been that angry, yes, but never showed it. In huge block letters, _The Mail_ asked everyone, _Foxy Roxy: Ballerina or Bitch?_ Tearing open the pages, I scanned the article. “Other RBA students have often complained of the royal girlfriend’s diva antics. One student was even quoted as saying, ‘When I asked her for help, she blew me off to go shopping with Kate Middleton,’” I read out loud. 

Kate winced. “Okay. Now she might have given you a reason.” 

I fumed about the article for most of the day on Sunday before going to bed the same way I had been since Valentine’s Day – clutching Barry to my chest and letting a few tears leak out of my eyes. On Monday I woke up bitterly missing Harry and even more pissed about _The Mail_ article. I yanked my pink tights on a little too hard, resulting in a run at the toe. Swearing, I dabbed some clear nail polish on it and headed out to the train. 

As soon as I walked into the conditioning studio, all of the other girls stopped their gossiping. They, too, had clearly seen the article. It was awkwardly silent, and I tried to ignore it, glaring at the reflection of the class in the mirror, daring any of the girls to keep whispering about me. When Madam came into the room, she was wearing her trademark scowl. “Ladies, let me start off by saying that I am gravely disappointed in you once again. Given that this is your last semester at the academy, I am going to put this to you as plainly as possible. During the past three years, I have tried to keep things ambiguous and vague out of respect for Miss DeLaSearle, but I see that those lessons have somehow slipped from your brain. It is completely unacceptable to me that you girls keep speaking to the press. The Royal Ballet Academy has a strict policy not to speak to the press unless you have official and express permission from myself and Monsieur. None of you girls have gotten that permission, except, ironically, for Miss DeLaSearle. She has never shot back at you in the tabloids, she has never sold stories about you, and she has never reacted about any of it to any of you girls, even though more than one of you have certainly deserved it. This has been going on for _three years_ , and apparently, none of you girls are ashamed of yourselves. Well let me be as clear as I have ever been about anything: You should be. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, your behavior, and your disrespect for your classmate.” 

From the back of the room, Jamie Eggert (who yes, okay, I had been mean to once, but I’d apologized!) cleared her throat. “Madam, we were talking about it before, and…well, it weren’t any of us.” 

“Of course it wasn’t,” Madam rolled her eyes. 

“No, really it wasn't,” Sara Dawes (who I had also snapped at, but again, _apologized!_ ) insisted. “One of us would have said so by now.” 

“Wait, what?” I asked, whirling around to face all of them. 

Shrugging, she answered, “Yeah. I mean, we all know who did all the other stuff.” 

“ _Who_?” I asked shrilly. 

I could see Sara realizing she’d said too much. “Look, that doesn’t matter. It's in the past. We were just all talking about it, and I really don’t think it was any of us. We wouldn’t do it, anyway, not after Foxy Roxy, and that was our first year.” 

“Yeah, remember last year, all that stuff about Bianca? That was a third year,” Jamie reminded us. 

“That was an accident,” I told Madam before she could interrogate the girls about who had done it. The third-year, Susie Jordan, had already graduated and been recruited by Moscow anyway, so it wouldn't matter if Madam knew it had been her or not. 

“So then who have you girls decided was the culprit behind this report?” Madam asked, genuinely curious. 

Jamie and Sara looked at each other before looking back to Madam and I. “Well…we think it might have been that new girl. The American? Olivia something?” 

Madam frowned and then shook her head. “Well I appreciate the effort, ladies, but I doubt that it was Miss Guest.” 

“I don’t,” I told Madam. 

She took a deep breath, let it out, shook her head, and began class. 

*** 

At lunch, I was sitting at a table by myself, which was how I spent most lunches since B had left school. I was flipping through my maths textbook when I felt someone standing over me. Glaring, I looked up at Olivia. “Roxy,” she started, “I’m really sorry about the article.” 

I looked around behind me. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you talking to me? I was busy being a bitch and blowing you off to go shopping with my friends.” 

“I didn’t say anything to the press, I swear,” she insisted. With a shrug, Olivia offered, “I only mentioned it to my roommate. She must have said something.” 

“Why did you say anything to anyone at all?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. She hadn’t apologized for any of it, nor had she denied calling me a bitch for allegedly blowing her off. 

Olivia didn’t look me in the eye as she answered, “I didn’t say you were a bitch.” I waited for her to continue. After a few moments of awkward fidgeting, she finally looked up. “It’s not like you were jumping at the chance to practice with me.” 

“Why would I be jumping at the chance to give pointers to a first year? I have my own stuff going on, Olivia. In case you didn’t know, I’m in my last year, and I have the most important audition of my life coming up. _And_ I live an hour away.” _And_ my boyfriend was in the center of chaos. 

Under her breath, Olivia muttered, “Then maybe you shouldn’t be spending your time shopping.” 

“Excuse me?” I asked, loudly enough so that the other people in the cafeteria started staring. “What did you just say to me?” Before Olivia could answer, I got up and packed my bag. “And you wonder why I’m not just _dying_ to watch you do the most boring dance on the planet.” Without giving her the opportunity to respond, I stormed off. 


	91. Spring Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

By the time the three of us boarded the private plane Pippa’s publisher had commissioned, I could not have been happier to be leaving London and taking a break from RBA. I usually hated flying private, but this time I was relieved. It meant no pictures of us, at least for the moment. I just wanted to drink a stupid amount of Jameson and forget Olivia and spring shop and Madam. The only thing I wanted to focus on was this trip, and the fact that my boyfriend was that much closer to being safe, sound, and back to me. I mean, I wasn't planning on going crazy like Charlie Sheen or anything, but I at least wanted to have fun.

I hadn’t told the other girls about my confrontation with Olivia, because I was afraid they’d act dismissive, the way Kate had in the grocery store. And, okay, yes, maybe I could have been friendlier to Olivia, but it wasn’t like I’d slapped her around and told her to go fuck herself. I wasn’t Dick Cheney. 

Pippa had book signings Saturday and Sunday mornings, but B and I were free to explore Ireland as we pleased. We had already planned a tour of the Guinness factory, and I fully intended to do every tourist-y thing possible. So on Friday, I let out a sigh and leaned my head back against the headrest. The flight from Heathrow to Dublin took approximately ten minutes. Okay, more than ten minutes, but not much. 

“So where are we going tonight?”

“Well, first we’ll go to the hotel, put our stuff down, have some drinks, then I vote for Temple Bar. Apparently it’s like this huge party in the street all the time.”

“Party in a street?” Bianca scoffed with a smirk. “You couldn’t get our names on a list or something?”

Narrowing her eyes at B, Pippa insisted, “It’s the _place_ to _be_ , Bianc _a_.”

“Because you _have_ to be there! It’s the middle of the street!” Bianca laughed, cackling when Pippa reached over and smacked her.

“What hotel are we staying at?” I asked, breaking up the spat.

Pippa’s eyes lit up. “The Clarence. It’s owned by Bono.”

“Oh my God! That’s sick!”

“Right? So take that, Bianca,” Pippa finished, sticking her tongue out at her.

Not even two hours later, we touched down in Dublin. There were exactly zero paparazzi there, and I didn’t even see anyone take out a cell phone. We shuffled into the blacked out SUV that was taking us to the hotel, and when we got there, Bono did not disappoint. The top floor balcony had a hot tub. We put our bags down before joining Pippa on the second level. She was behind the bar, pouring us shots of Jameson. “Come on girls. Let’s get this party started.”

***

Pippa was 100% correct about Temple Bar. It was a huge party in the streets of Dublin. “What is this?” Bianca shouted over the music that was booming at us from all sides.

“Temple Bar!” Pippa replied, and we all cracked up. Okay…we may have gotten a little tipsy in the hotel hot tub.

Against the wall of one building, there was a deejay and a small platform. Five girls obviously part of a bachelorette party were dancing on it. Pippa grabbed our hands and pushed us up to them. “Hey!” she shouted up to the girls. “Hey! Oi!”

One of the girls finally heard her and grabbed her friends, pointing down at us and screaming from excitement, although I didn’t really get why she was so excited to see us. We weren’t doing anything, just drunkenly shouting at her. 

“Hi there! Can we get up there?”

“Pippa! No!” I protested, unable to control my laughter at this apparently hilarious idea.

“Sure!” the girls agreed, hopping off the platform.

The deejay had a bullhorn and shouted into it as the three of us got on the tiny stage. “We’ve got Pippa Middleton and Roxy DeLaSearle here tonight!”

“Hey! And Bianca, you dick!” Pippa shouted.

“And Bianca!” the deejay added.

The party in the street started screaming and the house music started up. I closed my eyes to the camera flashes as my best friends and I drunkenly danced on a makeshift stage in the middle of Dublin.

***

The next day, Pippa had to wake up early and go to her book signing. While she was gone, Bianca and I ordered a ridiculous amount of room service. We were zoned out in front of _Friends_ reruns when Pippa came back. She started picking at the remains of our brunch. “Oh my _God_. I’m exhausted. Why did we stay out late when I knew I had to be up this morning?”

“Because it was fun,” Bianca reminded her.

“Oh, right,” Pippa grinned.

“Let’s go to the Guinness factory,” I suggested.

The girls shrugged and Pippa agreed, “Okay, let’s. I’ll call ahead and see if we can come in through a back door or something.”

Bianca snickered. “That’s what she said.”

Pippa frowned. “Why would she have said that? That sounds like something he would have said.”

“That’s not the joke, Pippa, God. Buzz kill.”

Regardless of whether he or she said it, we did, in fact, go through the back entrance of the Guinness factory. The tour guide had been told we were coming, and when we snuck in we stood in back of the rest of the group. The guide looked anywhere _but_ at us as she explained how Alexander Guinness had signed the best contract in history. We moved into a room with a huge trough full of hops. The tour guide was explaining how Guinness was made, when one of the girls on the tour got distracted and started looking around the room. She looked up at the ceiling, then at the huge container of hops before her eyes finally settled on us. She did a double take, her eyebrows rose, and, slowly, like we wouldn’t notice if she didn’t make any sudden movements, she leaned over to the guy standing next to her and whispered in his ear. He blinked at her before pretending to stretch, also peering around the room. I tried to pretend not to notice as he inspected us and then suddenly turned back to his friend. The three of us giggled at their attempt at subtlety and the tour guide ushered us into the next room. The girl shuffled her way to the back of the group and, blushing the color of a strawberry, she asked in American accent, “Have you been standing there this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Pippa nodded. “We came in through the back.”

“Are you…here, just the three of you?” the guy asked, really wanting to know if Kate, William, or Harry were with us.

“Yup, just a girls trip,” I let him down.

“I’ve got a book signing tomorrow. You two should come!” she suggested.

The girl looked flustered. “Yeah! Awesome! Of course!” Then, still giddy and excited, she blurted out to me, “I’m from Jersey.”

“Really? Which part?” I asked, impressed.

“Princeton.”

Okay, the fact that we were both from New Jersey was probably where our similarities ended. I lived in a cramped North Jersey suburb. Princeton was…well, it was exactly what one would assume it was; rich ivy leaguers, huge single-family homes, a classy little downtown area. Still, it was pretty coincidental that I’d find another Jersey girl in Dublin. “Let’s take a picture!” I suggested.

The girl blinked. “You…you want to take a picture? With me?”

“Yeah! Come on! Here Pip, can you take it?” I asked, handing her my phone. She gave her camera to her friend and we snapped a picture of the two Jersey girls.

***

After we finished the tour of the Guinness factory, we explored the streets of Dublin. We stopped to buy some souvenirs from street vendors – pictured of famous places in Ireland, teeny leprechaun figurines, shot glasses with the Irish flag painted on them. “Ooh, let’s get claddagh rings,” Pippa suggested, pointing at some cheap rings in a velvet display box.

Peering over, I saw that these were the rings with the heart in the middle of two hands. I hadn’t known what they were called, but I definitely wanted one. I scanned the box before picking out one with a (most definitely fake) peridot stone in the middle. “This one’s my birthstone,” I told them. To be honest, I’d always thought peridot was hideous, but for some reason on this ring I didn’t hate it.

“Good idea, Rox,” Bianca said, looking through a box for a ruby one.

As Pippa picked out a sapphire ring and we paid the vendor, she revealed, “I really hate that Kate’s engagement ring is sapphire. Now I can never wear it, and it’s _my_ birthstone!” she pointed out.

Slipping my ring on, I smirked, “Wow Pippa. Tough life.”

***

The weekend went by way too fast. On Saturday night we saw a show with traditional Irish dancers and a band. Then we went out to temple Bar to party some more. I didn’t really care about pictures, for once. I was just out with my girl friends having a good time. Kate had been photographed doing the same exact thing when she and William broke up. I just made sure I didn’t get sloppy drunk.

On Sunday we flew back to London and I said goodbye to my friends before taking a private car back to Surrey. I never took private cars anywhere, but I was exhausted and didn’t feel like taking public transportation, where there were amateur photographers lurking. I was leaning back against the seat half-asleep when my phone rang. “Hello?” I answered through a yawn.

“Hello, Roxanna? This is Katie Nichol calling. From _The Mail_.”

I frowned. Why was Katie Nichol calling me? How had she even gotten my number?

Like she’d read my mind, she offered, “I hope you don’t mind me calling. I got your number from the press office at Clarence House.”

Okay, I was going to have a long talk with the Clarence House press office about giving my number out. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you. I’m sorry,” I lied, about to hang up.

“No, Roxy! Wait!” Katie pleaded. I was quiet, waiting for her to say something to convince me to stay on the line. “This is off the record.”

Slowly, I agreed, “Okay…”

“I just wanted to call you and warn you about a story that’s coming out.”

My heart suddenly went from 0 to 60. “Is it Harry?” I demanded, sitting up, wide-awake. “Is he okay? Is he…” Instead of finishing my question, I just gulped.

“No, no it’s not Harry,” Katie assured me, and I let out a relieved breath. “We got some pictures of you, Pippa Middleton, and Bianca Winchester in Dublin this weekend.”

“Yeah, we just got back,” I confirmed. “So what?” As far as I knew, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d gotten in and out of Ireland without so much as a panty-flash exiting a car.

“So unfortunately we have sources saying that you were there alone, just with the girls.”

_Damn._ I should have known better than to trust a Jersey girl. “Yeah, who cares?”

Katie sighed, sounding weary. It occurred to me for the first time that maybe these gossip columnists thought their careers were just as ridiculous as I did. “Look, I know what’s going on with Harry, but we’re afraid that if we publish these pictures, people are going to start wondering about why you were out there alone.”

“Then don’t publish the pictures.” There. Problem solved.

“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t. I don’t want to print anything that might jeopardize…” She stopped, aware of the fact that phone lines were no longer a private place because of her colleagues. “Anything that will bring attention to him.” Did the chick want a medal for being a decent human being? “But our editor wants them published. I’m doing the story, and I wanted to take the attention off Harry. So…I’m going to report that you two may have broken up, and that you’re getting back together with your ex-boyfriend, Ruairi Finnerton.”

“ _What_?” I shrieked in the back seat, causing the driver to frown in his rearview mirror. 

“I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s the only choice I have if I don’t want to report on Harry,” Katie insisted.

Pressing down on the migraine that had amassed between my eyes, I let out a sigh. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

Katie paused. “I’m sorry about this, Roxy. Truly.”

“Thanks. And um…thanks for giving me a heads up.” I hung up the phone before heading into the house.

“Hey Rox! How was Dublin? Did you bring me back any presents?” Kate asked from the kitchen, where she was making dinner.

“It was fun until about five minutes ago.” I told Kate and William, who was “tasting” what Kate was cooking and drinking a beer, about my conversation with Katie Nichol. “I mean, I kind of get it. I guess it was nice of her to call and warn me.”

“Oh, no.” Kate put a stop to my giving Katie Nichol the benefit of the doubt. “Katie Nichol was the genius behind Waitey Katie, and then when we got engaged, she chastised everyone for calling me that. _Don’t_ assume she’s different than all the rest of them.”

“Well it _is_ nice of her to try and take the focus off Harry,” William pointed out.

“They made a deal! She’s legally bound not to talk about Harry’s deployment. Do you think she’d really be keeping her mouth shut if she wasn’t going to get sued?” Kate asked. William and I had to agree. “You should warn Ruairi.”

“Oh, yeah, because _that_ won’t be awkward. In case you don’t remember, we didn’t exactly leave things on the best terms,” I reminded her.

“Still, it would be the right thing to do,” she responded.

“Ugh. Stop being so _nice_ all the time,” I groaned to the nicest person I knew.

Trudging back to my bedroom, I tried to figure out what to say to Ruairi, because somehow, “Oh, hey there. Remember when I rebounded with you shortly before getting back together with my ex-boyfriend, who you hate with a vengeance because his ancestors have been oppressing yours for hundreds of years? Well, the tabloids are going to say we’re getting back together, even though I’m pretty sure you still hate my breathing guts. Okay, nice catching up! Bye!” didn’t seem quite adequate.


	92. April Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I knew I didn’t have that much time, since the _Mail_ story was being printed tomorrow morning, but I procrastinated as much as I could. Finally, before I got into bed, I knew I had to face the music. Sitting on the edge of my bed, clutching Barry to my chest, I dialed Ruairi’s number, which I’d forgotten to delete from my phone. Although at the moment, I really wished I hadn’t.

Ruairi _had_ apparently deleted _my_ number, and he picked up with a curious, “Hello?”

Clearing my throat, I awkwardly confessed, “Hi Ruairi. This is…it’s Roxy.”

There was a long pause. “Hello,” he slowly greeted me.

“Um…so this is kind of awkward, but I figured I should call and tell you…um…I went to Dublin this weekend.”

“You did?” Ruairi asked, sounding impressed. “How did you like it?”

“It was awesome. Really beautiful and so fun. But um…that kind of brings me to my point. I was in Dublin with Pippa and B.”

Before I could finish, Ruairi asked, “How is Bianca?”

I instantly felt a stab of guilt. Ruairi and I hadn’t left things on the best terms, but we’d had a good run. He was a good person, and asking about B made me feel even shittier about the Mail article than I already did. “She’s doing really well.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. So anyway, the press got a hold of some pictures, and it was just the girls and um…tomorrow they’re running a story that I was there because I’m trying to get back together with you.”

Ruairi laughed bitterly. “Great. My girlfriend’s going to love that.”

“Sorry,” I winced. “Will you tell her I’m sorry about all this?”

“’Course. Thanks for warning us.”

“Sure.” I paused before adding, “I’m really glad to hear you doing so well, Ruairi.”

“You, too, Roxy.”

Smiling, I hung up. Well, that could have gone worse. 

***

The _Mail_ article was even more ridiculous than usual, but maybe I only thought that because I was reading it, and I usually just passed over the tabloids. (Except when they were calling me a bitch, or publishing pictures of me naked, both of which, thankfully, had only happened once.) For a story with no actual basis in reality, I was shocked by how much “evidence” they had. There were pictures of us dancing at Temple Bar, a grainy cell phone shot of the three of us watching the dance show. They had one source (I assumed it was the Jersey girl or her friend) saying that we had told them we were there alone, and multiple people saying they hadn’t seen anyone else with us. Their _piece de resistance_ was a shot of me wearing my new claddagh ring. The caption read: “Pictured here, DeLaSearle is wearing the traditional Irish claddagh ring on her right hand, with the point towards her fingertips. This is how the ring is worn when the wearer is single.” I didn’t even know that was a thing!

Frustrated, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. _Six weeks. He’ll be back in six weeks. And then you won’t leave the house for a month. You’ll just stay inside, making sweet, sweet love with your sexy, sexy boyfriend._

***

If I decided to meet with Olivia again, it was _not_ because I felt guilty about freaking out at her about the article. It was definitely _not_ because I realized, after the Ruairi piece, how ridiculous the tabloids were and that maybe the story about me being a bitch wasn't Olivia's fault. It was just because Madam wanted me to, and because I was in a good mood because it was April. Four weeks until Harry was back! Besides, I needed to get in more practiceb for Spring Shop anyway. After our Dublin trip, the third-year students had auditions, and I’d gotten a great part in a piece Monsieur was choreographing just for us. He made a new piece for all third-year workshops. Oh, and if I didn’t perform absolutely perfectly in spring shop I’d never get a job anywhere and I’d have to bag groceries. 

So on the first Saturday of April, I met Olivia in a practice studio to watch her altered audition piece. (The third years had auditions earlier than second years, then first years.) She’d chosen a new piece, the Lilac Fairy variation from _Sleeping Beauty_ , and, after actually watching her dance, it was undeniable that she had a great deal of talent. My heart seared in my chest, boiling my blood, unconsciously confirming Will and Kate's hypothesis that yes, maybe I was just a little bit jealous. I knew it was an irrational reaction, so I tersely gave Olivia some pointers. “Do you think…could you show me?” she asked.

Shrugging, I answered, “Sure.” The dance involved a lot of tiny leaps and pirouettes. It was actually pretty fun. It required a _ton_ of core and muscle control, and it was a great thigh workout. When I finished, I giggled out of a pirouette. “That was fun. Good choice,” I smiled at Olivia before cocking my head to the side. She had a weird expression on her face. She kept blinking, and her lips were trembling, and _then_ she burst into tears. “Oh… um…” Awkwardly, I patted her back. “There, there…”

Olivia let out a strangled sob. “I’m such an idiot!”

“What? Why?” I asked. I mean, she was pretty annoying, but I didn’t have any evidence that she was an idiot, per se.

“Because! I moved all the way to L-London, away from all my friends and f-f-family, so I could dance like you. I mean, your life is p-p-perfect! And I thought I could j-just come here and be a g-g-great dancer, too. I’m n-never gonna be as good as you!”

I really wanted to be 100% flattered, but I felt at least a little pity for the poor girl, as well as guilt for being such a diva. “Olivia, you’re a great dancer. Madam took you on after fall semester – they _never_ do that.”

Sniffling again, Olivia wiped at her eyes. “I’m not as good as you.”

I couldn’t count how many times I’d cried about my fear that I’d never be as good as the Royal Ballet Company’s principle dancer, Victoria White. _Crap._ I was starting to feel bad for her. “I’m three years older than you. You have the next two years of your life for Madam to turn you into the best dancer you can be, and believe me, she’ll do it. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” Olivia scoffed. “It’s a good thing I have a booming social life, too.” Now, she was not alone there. All of the girls at the RBA were a little socially inept. We’d done nothing but dance, much of that competitively, for years. Not exactly the sort of environment where people flocked to your bubbly personality. Plus, Olivia didn’t know anyone in England, and she’d transferred in the middle of the year, after all the other girls had already formed their cliques. It probably didn’t help that she’d spent the past several weeks up my butt, but I could tell that now was not the best time to point that out to her. She let out another bitter laugh. “I mean, what did I think would happen? I’d move here, be your best friend, fall in love with a prince? There aren’t even any left!”

Before I could stop myself, I tilted my head back and let out a loud laugh. For the first time in my life, I was seeing what the first few weeks of our friendship was like for Kate, and it was absurd. Since I was laughing, Olivia seemed to realize how ridiculous her last statement was, and she chuckled, wiping at her eyes. “Olivia! If you are modeling your life decisions off of mine, you are _screwed_!” I cautioned her.

“Not from where I’m sitting,” she mumbled.

“Well then I’ll sell pictures of you in your underwear to every tabloid on Fleet Street and see if you still think my life is perfect.” We paused for a minute and Olivia took a deep breath. “Look, I know I haven’t been…the friendliest person on the face of the earth. I’ve just got a lot going on. This spring shop is kicking my ass, on top of the whole rest of my life.” A friend recovering from a severe eating disorder, lying to my mother about Harry, and spending every free second of every day and night worrying about him. “And, between you and me, dating a prince isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Olivia smiled. “I thought it was being a princess?” she asked, referencing a quote Princess Diana had once said.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we?” She chuckled again and I felt better that I’d been able to make her feel better. “I know it’s tough in the beginning. I just got really lucky, and I don’t mean with the Harry stuff. I just by chance made these really good friends. So…why don’t we go have a spa day after your spring shop audition? Do something to relax a little.”

Blinking, Olivia timidly asked, “You…do you really want to do that?”

With a shrug, I answered, “Sure.” After all, I’d had people take me under their wings. Now I guess it was time to take someone else under mine.

***

I practiced at the studio with Olivia for a while before heading back to Surrey. Will’s white Audi was gone, but the Range Rover was still there, which meant the he and Kate had probably just gone to the Tesco or something. Parched from our late practice session at school, I opened the fridge. I was gulping down a glass of water when I surveyed the kitchen. There was a plate on the counter holding a cold, nibbled-on piece of toast, and a half-drank glass of orange juice. Kate never left out dirty dishes. They must have been running super late. Peering into the living room, I noticed a bathrobe on the floor and a blue button-down shirt tossed onto the couch. _Oh! Gross!_ Had they done it in the living room! _Come on, guys!_ I thought, picking up the bathrobe in my thumb and forefinger. Finding no undergarments or pants, I was pretty sure they hadn’t had sex in a common place, as per our house rules, but that didn't make it any less schocking. Kate never left the house in such messy conditions.  
I was folding the button down (William’s, as I’d suspected) and the bathrobe to take up to the Cambridge’s bedroom when there was a knock on the front door. Peeking through the peephole, I saw an employee I recognized from one of the royal residences. “Hi,” I gave him a friendly smile. “Sorry, Will and Kate aren’t here.”

“I know, miss. They sent me here to let you know that they’d be spending tonight at Clarence House.”

“Oh. Okay.” Then, frowning, I asked, “Why didn’t they just call me?”

The man in grey paused before telling me through tight lips, “They don’t have access to their mobiles.”

“Weird. Do you know how long they’ll be gone?” I was in the habit of getting out of the shower and spending a long period of time naked. I had no intention of anyone else finding out about this habit.

Again, the man in grey paused before telling me, “No, miss. Their Royal Highnesses don’t know how long they’ll be at Clarence House.”

“Then can you just tell them to call me when they get the chance?” I requested.

He cleared his throat, which wasn’t an answer to my question. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced an orange bottle. “The Duchess of Cambridge has asked me to give these to you. They’re Xanax, in case you’re having any _anxiety_.”

It hit me like a freight train. Clarence House. No mobile access. Traces behind like they'd left in a rush. Anxiety.   
My heart pounded between my ears. The water glass slipped through my fingers. I was unconscious before I hit the ground.


	93. Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Miss DeLaSearle. Miss DeLaSearle.” It didn’t take long for me to come to. The Clarence House agent was shaking me awake. 

“Is he dead?” I asked, clutching at the lapels of his grey jacket. My body was too dense to pull myself off the ground. My lungs had shriveled and wouldn’t expand again.

“I don’t know, miss.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” _Oh God, oh God, oh God…_ I leaned over and threw up onto the Spanish tile.

The man in grey held a new glass of water to my lips. “You should take this,” he held an orange pill out to me.

“I can’t,” I sobbed. “I can’t. I can’t. Is he…oh God…”

“Miss DeLaSearle, please. I was sent to make sure you would take this.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

The man somehow placed the pill in my hand and held it to my mouth until I dry-swallowed it. He then helped me up off the ground and walked me over to the couch. He tried to block my way as I reached for the remote. “No one knows anything, miss.” I glared up at him and he got out of the way, letting me turn on CNN. I pulled a pillow to my chest, clutching onto it for dear life, hoping that I’d stop shaking soon. The man from Clarence House cleaned up the shards of glass, and the water and vomit on the floor. Before he left the house, he turned back to me. The look on his face ,ade ,y heart pull. I didn’t know it was possible to feel worse, but his expression of sincere remorse and concern somehow accomplished just that. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, miss,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

*** 

“Roxy? Roxy! Are you here?”

I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up on the couch. CNN International was still on, but there was no news about Harry. Apparently, whatever was happening, the media hadn’t yet caught on. I didn’t know if I was thankful for that or not. Blinking, I realized that it was daytime. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

“Rox? Oh, there you are. What are you doing down here?” Pippa asked, coming into the living room from the kitchen. 

“I fell asleep,” I told her. My mouth felt like sandpaper. “Can you get me a glass of water?”

She gave me a once over and then nodded, apparently figuring that I looked ghastly enough to do me a favor. After filling a glass with ice and water, she brought it over to me, perching on the coffee table across from me. “What’s going on?” she asked as I sipped. “Kate sent a man from Clarence House over to talk to me, he said she doesn’t have her mobile. He said she wanted to ask me to come over here and check on you. Is everything okay?”

I pressed down on my forehead, where it still felt like my heart was pounding. “I doubt it.” When I looked back up at her, she looked nearly as pale as I did. I silently begged that she wouldn’t ask for more details.

“Is Kate all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered honestly.

She looked confused and pressed on. “And William?” When I slowly nodded, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Is this about Harry? Is this about where he’s been?”

“Pippa, honestly, I can’t tell you anything, and I don’t know any more than you do,” I pleaded with her, my voice cracking. 

Pippa sighed and then took in my appearance again. “Jesus Rox, when was the last time you had a shower?”

Assuming it was Sunday, the answer to that question was only a day ago. But I’d also come from an intense practice session at the studio. And I didn’t know what time it was. “Um…yesterday.”

Taking in a deep breath, Pippa stood up. “Well, whatever’s going on, you have to get up.”

The Middletons were always like this in times of crisis. Last summer, when Harry had been recovering from his overdose, Kate and I had gone on therapeutic, calming runs together. Now, however, was not the time for a run to clear my head. “Pippa, no, I can’t.” I had to stay here, watch CNN, wait for my boyfriend’s head to get cut off on Al Jazeera. The idea made me feel sick again, but instead of throwing up I took several deep breaths and shut my eyes, trying to get the mental image out of my mind. 

She clapped her hands together. “You have to. Come on now, up. It’s after noon, it’s late. Up, up you get.” Pippa reached out and pulled my heavy body off the couch. “We’re going to go for a run, and then you're going to take a shower.”

“Pippa, really, it’s not a good time,” I tried to tell her. My legs were hardly holding me while I was just standing, let alone running.

“Well you’ve got to get out of the house. It’ll make you feel better, some fresh air. Come on, go change. I’ll wait here for you.” Triumphantly, she put her hands on her hips. Tears leaked out of my eyes again and she gave me a sympathetic look. “Roxy. Come on. I just…I don’t know how else to help you.”

When she was upset, Bianca liked to make tea. When Pippa was upset, she liked to go running. It was her way of taking care of me. Feeling an overwhelming surge of gratefulness and love for Pip, I wiped away my tears and agreed to a run with her. I changed into a pair of running shorts and a tank top, puling my hair into a ponytail. Before I went back downstairs, I looked at myself in the mirror. Pippa was right, I needed a shower. Even after all the sleep I’d gotten, there were dark purple half-circles under my eyes. I could see the grease at the top of my scalp, running into the roots of my black hair. My usually pale skin looked even worse, almost see-thru. All right, I’d shower after the run. When I came downstairs, Pippa was still waiting for me, as promised. “The next thing you’re going to do after you shower is eat,” she insisted. 

“I threw up,” I offered.

“So we’ll start with some soup or something,” she suggested. “You need to eat. Come on, let’s go.” She started jogging in place while I tied my shoes, and then, with a groan of dread, followed her out the door.

***

As much as I hated to admit it, Pippa may have been right about the jog. This was not one of those times where a little fresh air would help me sort out my problems, but it _did_ take my mind off of Harry about once every three minutes. My internal monologue went something like this: _Oh God, he’s dead. I know he’s dead. He’s getting his head cut off on the inernet right now. He’s dead. Those fucking ducks better move out of my way before I run them over. God, if you’re there, I know I’ve never believed in you before, but please, please, please don’t let him be dead. If he’s not dead, I’ll go to church every week, I promise, please just don’t let him be dead. I hate running._

After I showered, Pippa went to the Tesco and made me eat some toast and soup. She was right about that, too. When it got darker outside, it dawned on me that I had to go back to school Monday, back to class, back to an endless day of torturing myself in preparation for spring shop. How was I supposed to go back there and pretend that everything was normal? That my boyfriend’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance? In the back of my mind, I heard Harry saying, _If something were to happen, you couldn’t miss a class, because then they might think something’s gone wrong and start reporting it early._ “What?” Pippa asked after seeing the emotion on my face.

Shrugging, I told her, “I just don’t want to go to school tomorrow.” She nodded sympathetically. “Do you think…” I let the question trail off, feeling silly.

Pippa leaned closer. “Do I think what?”

“Do you think you could stay here for a couple of days? I just…don’t want to be alone right now.” It was humiliating. I sounded like a child afraid of imaginary monsters under the bed. Only those monsters were the very real al qeada and the bed was a cave in the Middle East.

“Yes, of course,” Pippa promised. She made a couple of phone calls so she’d have clothes delivered to the house for work the next morning. Then she made us tea and I turned the news back on. Pippa didn’t ask questions, just suggested I go to bed as it got later. I told her I would, but I don’t think she believed me. Just as well. I would have felt guiltier had she not known I was lying.

I didn’t even realize how much time had gone by until the sun started to rise. My eyelids stung when I shut them, remembering how I’d normally wake up to Harry making coffee and breakfast. Would I ever wake up to that again? Would he make me egg whites ever again? Would he brush his teeth, or drink tea, or hug me, or smile that sly smile of his, ever again? My heart wrenched, but my eyes didn’t tear up. I was too empty for that, too numb. I somehow pulled myself up off the couch and got dressed for class. When I came back downstairs, Pippa was pouring tea into a to-go cup, looking professional. “Ready? I’ll give you a lift,” she offered. My throat was too dry to respond, so I just nodded. 

We drove the ride to London in rush hour traffic without saying anything. I kept the BBC on, desperate for news, but there was none. Since there was nothing to listen to, I let the monsters loose in my head to run wild.

Harry was dead. If he wasn’t then Will and Kate would have been home by now. But they weren’t. They were at Clarence House with Charles, planning the state funeral. And, since I had been too stupid, and too stubborn, to marry the person I loved more than anything when I had the chance, I was entitled to nothing. Not even a spot at the funeral. I wouldn’t be there to support William. I wouldn’t have Kate give me a fierce, tight hug while we both sobbed. I was nothing. I was no one. And the only person that had ever made me feel like something and someone was gone. I would never stand in his bedroom again. I would never smell that Harry scent. I would never feel the soft fabric of that grey cashmere sweater. I would never feel the rough calluses on his hands. He would never call me his darling girl, or Detective Fox. I would never call him Spice. He wouldn’t make me coffee in the morning. I wouldn’t run my hands through his hair. He wouldn’t hold his arms around me, making me feel warm, and safe, in the middle of a snow storm. 

I would have nothing. I would be left with nothing, not even my own life, not even my own heart. No, Harry had taken that with him when he went. And since he’d died with it, now I would die, too. It was simple. It wasn’t suicide. I would not slit my wrists, I would not take pills. But I would also never watch Harry give me that Diana smirk, or light a cigarette that I hated, or make fun of William ever again. And so, if he was dead, I didn’t want to live. I would pull his pillow into me, cuddle with it like I would cuddle with him, close my eyes in the bed we’d shared together, go to sleep, and cease to exist.

When we got to the school, Pippa offered me a small, encouraging smile. “Chin up, Rox. It’ll be all right,” she offered as I got out of the car. I couldn’t even muster up the energy for a fake smile before shutting the passenger side door and heading into RBA.


	94. Suspension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling this apathetic towards school. Usually, when I had things going on in my personal life that seemed insane, I loved going to class. I loved the routine, the rigidity of it. Ballet was usually comforting. Today, however, I couldn’t have cared less. I walked through conditioning like a zombie. Marcus lifted me like I was a corpse. I knew I should have felt guilty for making it worse for him, but I didn’t care enough to feel anything. 

When the day was over I didn’t even consider staying behind for extra practice. I’d been inside all day with no access to the news or papers. If something had happened, I wouldn’t even know about it. I was wrapping my scarf around my neck when Olivia approached me. I wasn’t sure how but I restrained my groan. 

“Hey Roxy. I was just wondering about the spring shop. Do you remember the number you did from _Gisele_? Because I was thinking of changing my audition piece again and…”

I tuned her out. “Olivia, this isn’t really a good time.” Before she could ask any more mind-numbing questions, I picked up my pace and left the building.

When I got on the tube, there was a mother waiting on the platform, her toddler son in hand. The boy was screaming for ice cream, but his mother told him, patiently, that he could have ice cream when they got home, and only a little for dessert. ”BUT I WANT IT!” he screamed, jumping up and down with a scowl. 

And I was jealous. I wanted to be able to do that - to scream, and cry, until I was red in the face. I wanted to bang on the walls as hard as I could and shout, “I WANT HARRY!” I wanted to sob until the tears mixed with my snot and my eyes got puffy and they stung. Because at that moment, that was what I wanted, more than anything. More than solving world hunger. More than peace in the Middle East. More than an offer to any dance company I wanted. More than I wanted to go back in time and erase all of the nasty tabloid articles written about me.

But since I couldn’t, I just pulled my legs up around me, tried to hide my face in my hoodie, and sink further down into myself.

_I want Harry._

_I want my Harry._

***

When I got home that night, Pippa was already there. She was on the phone and after I listened to the conversation for a second I figured out it was with her mom. “No, I haven’t heard from her at all. Well I have no idea. Yes, tell me if you hear. All right. Oh, Roxy just got back, must go. Love you, too, Mum.” She hung up and ran her hands through her hair. I could tell that she was stressed, almost as much as I was. It must have been hard for her, too, not knowing what was going on; it wasn’t as if she didn’t love Harry. When she looked back up at me, she forced out a smile. “I’ve called Bianca.”

“Isn’t she busy at school?” I wondered.

“That doesn’t matter, Roxy. Something’s going on and she wants to be here for you,” she assured me. 

I went upstairs to jump in the shower. I stayed in there for longer than I probably should have, letting the scalding hot beads of water wash over me. It felt good, another thing to take my mind off the aching in my stomach. When I got out of the shower, I wrapped my bathrobe around myself and went downstairs. I could hear people talking, but as soon as I entered the living room, Pippa flicked the TV off. Bianca was in the kitchen and she gave her a meaningful look. My heart stopped. “What’s going on?”

Bianca shook her head. “It’s nothing, Roxy.”

“What’s going on?” I asked again. Even to me, my voice sounded shrill. “Tell me right now.”

Pippa sighed. “It’s just…it seems that one of the girls at school has…maybe said something to some reporters that she shouldn’t have said.”

My legs turned into more of a liquid and I took a deep breath, trying to gain more strength. “What happened?”

With another glance at Pippa, Bianca came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Roxy, has something happened? With you and Harry? Is that what this is about?”

Oh, how I wished it to be so. “What?” I asked her, feeling like I was in a dream, my head full of fog. What were they talking about?

Pippa joined us and, together, they led me over to the couch. “I told her it couldn’t be true. You wouldn’t be this broken up over a silly little fight,” she offered quietly, running her hands through my hair. 

Knowing that I was still confused, Bianca explained. “Apparently something happened with you and one of the girls at school today. Do you know what I’m talking about?” I nodded vaguely, assuming that she was talking about my brusque attitude with Olivia, or maybe that someone had noticed I’d been dancing like a zombie all day. “Well, apparently she’s told the press that you’ve been in a bad way because something happened between you and Harry.”

And suddenly, the aching feeling in my stomach was gone. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid or sad. Instead, I was angry. I was angry that Harry had gone, even though I hadn’t wanted him to – even though his Gran and his dad hadn’t wanted him to. I was angry that I had no way of contacting him. I was angry that Rupert Murdoch had hacked into our phones and I couldn’t talk to him, or write letters, or e-mail. I was angry that something was happening, now, and had been happening for days. I was angry that Harry might be starring in the next sensational video of a soldier getting his head cut off on the internet, and I was here, alone, knowing nothing. I was furious. And I knew exactly who to blame it on.

***

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Olivia looked up from her lunch and blinked at me. “Wh…what?”

“You heard me. What the hell were you thinking, going to the press?”

The other girls sitting at her table looked away awkwardly, some even getting up and walking away. “I didn’t,” Olivia protested. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Oh, really? Then what is this?” I asked, holding up a copy of _The Mirror_. There was an image of Harry and I on the cover, with a jagged split in down the middle. The headline read, _Roxy and Harry on the Rocks!_

Olivia looked at the tabloid and then shook her head. “Look, all that happened was that I said to a few the other girls that maybe something was happening, since you were so distracted yesterday. That’s _all_. I don’t know what else happened after that.”

Had I been thinking rationally, I would have had more patience for this. But Olivia had made this mistake before, she should know better by now, and my thought process was as far away from rational as possible. “Cut the shit. You got blown off by me and were feeling sorry for yourself. What’s the story, Olivia, huh? You needed to make a quick buck? How much did they give you? Hm? How much did it cost them, for you to sell me out?” Olivia opened her mouth to respond, but I didn’t let her. “From now on, you stay away from me, and you stay out of my life. Do you understand me? Stay out of my life!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I lifted up my side of the table, spilling drinks and food everywhere and making several bangs and clatters. I was only vaguely aware that the entire cafeteria was looking at me, but I didn’t care. Olivia’s face was the color of a sheet. Good.

“ _DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE?_ ” I shouted at her, swiping away the rest of the food that was left on the table. A glass of water spilled, splashing Olivia and shattering on the floor. 

Marcus jumped in from out of nowhere and was attempting to wrestle me back, to restrain me from taking a swing at Olivia. “Roxy! Calm down!” he tried to instruct me.

It didn’t work. “ _DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE?_ ” I repeated, thinking of Harry, wherever he was, whatever danger he was in, if he was even still in danger, if the worst hadn't already happened.

“ _Miss_ DeLaSearle!”

Marcus let go of me and, slowly, I turned around to see Madam standing in the cafeteria. She was wearing her classic expression, like she was sucking on a lemon. Her arms were crossed over her chest. And I didn’t care at all. I didn’t even care as she gestured with her finger for me to follow her, or as the caf was completely silent and that all eyes were on me, like they were watching me walk to my execution. As I left the caf, I shot a look back at Olivia, just to let them all know that I didn’t care. I was still furious, and they could all expect the same reaction if any of them dared open their mouths.

I followed Madam to her office, and stood when she sat behind her desk. Surprised, she looked up at me. “Sit,” she instructed.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I answered, “No thanks, I’ll stand.”

The only hint of emotion she gave was the flare of her nostrils. “Do you care to explain yourself?”

Shrugging, I shook my head. “I don’t see why I should.”

“You have just assaulted another student of the Royal Ballet Academy! And you see no need to justify your actions?”

“No,” I answered truthfully. “I haven’t seen a need to justify my actions since I came here.”

Madam’s nostrils flared again and she opened her drawer forcefully. With a tear, she ripped out a yellow slip of paper from a notebook and scribbled something down on it. “Until you feel you can act in a manner more fitting of a pupil here at the Academy, you are hereby suspended,” she told me, handing over the yellow slip. “Do you have anything to say _now_ , Miss DeLaSearle?”

Snatching the paper out of her hand, I shoved it in my dance bag, turned around, and left her office. 

***

“You’re home early,” Bianca noted, looking up from her books when I came in the kitchen. 

“I got suspended.”

Her jaw almost hit the tile floor. “ _What_?”

As evidence, I handed her the yellow slip of paper indicating that I wasn’t to return to the Academy for the next week. “I got suspended.”

Bianca looked over the paper. Under the reason, Madam had written, _Behavior unbecoming of a student_. “Roxy! What have you done?”

“Nothing that I shouldn’t have done months ago,” I shrugged, going on to explain how I’d publicly scolded Olivia. Before Bianca could shame me because of my behavior, I waved a hand. “She had it coming and you know it.”

“But you don’t even know it was her,” she insisted.

“It was.” With that, I ended the conversation and went up to my room to change out of my dance clothes. Shivering, even in my sweatpants and Harry’s grey cashmere sweater, I glued myself to the couch, flicked on the television, and zoned out in front of CNN, waiting for the "breaking news" update, waiting for the ticker on the bottom of the screen to switch from Parliamentary updates to something far more sinister, waiting for the anchors to offer me their thoughts and prayers, waiting for their messages of condolences, waiting to hear for certain that my life was over.


	95. But A Dream Within A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I was in Harry’s room. I reached out, running my fingers over the fabric of the grey cashmere sweater I loved so much. I held it to my face, breathing him in. I opened the envelope and shook out the pictures. Only these pictures were different from the ones I’d found before. They were all pictures of Harry at his mother’s funeral. There were pictures of Harry collapsed, covered in his own sweat and vomit on the bathroom floor of his Kensington apartment. There were pictures of me, dressed all in black, head bowed, in front of a long, black granite gravestone. I wasn’t with anyone. Kate and William weren’t there. Not B or Pippa. Not my mom, or Grace, or anyone I knew. I was just there, looking down at Harry’s gravestone, all by myself.

“Roxy. Roxanna. Wake up my darling.”

I knew instantly what was happening and kept my eyes closed. The horrific nightmare had caused me to start to crying in my sleep and wiped at my eyes. “I can’t,” I explained, my voice coming out in a sleepy rasp. 

“Why not?” my dream-Harry asked, and I imagined that I felt his hand running through my hair.  
“Because I hate this dream. I know you’ll go away. I’ll wake up and you won’t be there.”

“I promise you, I will.”

“You always promise,” I pointed out.

“Always?” he asked.

“Yes,” I reminded him. “You always promise, and I wake up, and you’re gone.” I could feel him, his warm hands on my scalp, and I could hear his lovely husky voice. 

“Roxanna, I'm begging you, please open your eyes.”

Feeling the lump clog my throat, I opened one eye, and then the other. God, I was getting worse. Now, instead of just hearing him, and feeling him, I was seeing him. My hallucination had altered to adjust itself to whatever trauma Harry had suffered over the past three days. Both of his eyes had purple and yellow bruises blooming underneath. There was a deep, bloody gash across the left side of his forehead. His nose was swollen and he had one of those white strips across it. One of his arms was in a sling. Making a mental note to call Dr. Rosenblum in the morning to discuss my vivid hallucinations, I wiped at the hot tears that were still spilling past my eyelids. “I know it’s not really you,” I told him. “You’re probably dead somewhere in a desert. Or a cave.”

“I promise you, I’m not in a cave. I’m right here. It’s not a dream, I assure you.”

Sighing, I told him, “That’s what you say in the dream.” 

“If this was a dream, would I look like this?” he gestured to his broken appearance. Then, before I could say anything else, dream-Harry reached forward and pinched my arm. 

“Ow! What the hell?”

“See, you must be awake, I’ve pinched you,” Harry insisted.

Rubbing my arm, I shook my head. “All that means is that you’re mean in my dreams.”

With an eye-roll, Harry waved to someone behind me. Soon, Pippa was by his side. “There. Is Pippa usually in your dreams?” I had to admit, he had me there. “Stand up, look around.” When I did, he asked, “Is Bianca usually here? Or Will and Kate?” 

My heart stopped. My entire body was trembling. Tears weren’t coming out of my eyes, because that implies that there were shapely little droplets rolling down my cheeks. No, what was happening was that saline was just spilling from my face. I tried to take in a few breaths, but it was impossible. “H…Harry?” I wasn’t sure how I formed a word, my lips were trembling so badly. Before Harry could even finish his nod, I was throwing myself on him, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

If I caused his injuries any more pain, he didn’t let on. With his good arm, he hugged me back, tight, and I shut my eyes, just trying to take in the feel of him. “I love you,” he breathed into my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, my darling.”

“You’re – never – going – back – there – again – ever – I – won’t – let – you,” I gasped through my sobs. His olive green sweater was already splotchy with tears. 

Harry placed his hand on the side of my face before planting a kiss on my mouth. When we pulled away, he still held me there. “Just let me look at you for a moment.” I beamed at him through my tears, sure that I looked absolutely disgusting. “Oh my darling,” he scooped me back up into his arms.

William left us alone for a few moments before clearing his throat. “All right, all right. Now if the lovers have reunited, I’ve got champagne.”

“Ooh, champagne!” Bianca clapped her hands together.

We all gathered in the kitchen, Harry’s arm wrapped around my waist. He couldn’t partake in his own champagne toast, but William had also brought a bottle of sparkling cider. We all cheered as he popped the top open and poured it into our flutes. As we waited for him to toast, I tried to get a read on him. William held his glass up and cleared his throat, looking at Harry, at all of his injuries. Instead of saying anything, I noticed that his eyes just misted with tears as he looked at all the pain his little brother had endured. I’d never seen William this emotional about anything. He blinked a couple of times before simply toasting, “To Harry.”

“To Harry,” we all repeated, and then sipped our drinks.

“I can’t bloody believe that you were gone all this time and no one found out,” Bianca shook her head.

“I can’t believe _I_ didn’t find out,” Pippa insisted.

“People did find out,” Harry corrected them. I thought his tone hinted at something, but when I looked up at him, he only forced out a smile at me. I was overjoyed that he was home, but I also knew that he had been in some horrible ordeal that had taken several days to sort out. I didn’t know what had gone on, but from the way his mouth had set in a grim line, I could assume that it wasn’t anything good. In the States, there was a huge rate of veterans who came back with severe cases of PTSD. Soldiers who suffered from it were known to self-medicate, and Harry had a history of doing that already. My heart pulled thinking about the problems that could lie ahead, but I couldn’t be too sad about it – not today, now that he was right here, right next to me, holding my hand.

***

I was happy to have everyone back at the Surrey house so we could all celebrate together, but I was equally grateful for the fact that they understood that Harry and I needed some time alone together. Even Will and Kate went back to Clarence House. I noticed that neither of them looked like they’d gotten much sleep lately. Poor William. It seemed like he was never catching a break from Harry’s endless escapades. 

When they left, the house was strangely quiet. The others probably expected us to immediately jump each other’s bones, but for some reason I felt shy and awkward. Besides, Harry didn’t look like he was in good enough shape to be taking part in any aerobic activity. Softly, he took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” I let him lead me back to our room, and he sighed when he opened the door. “I’ve missed my own bed.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, like it would somehow prevent him from leaving me again. He kissed my head and we got into bed. It was that time of morning an hour or so before sunrise, and my head felt foggy from crying and champagne and sleepiness. 

After laying on our sides, smiling at each other, Harry smoothed down some stray strands of my hair. “Go to sleep.”

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I giggled. “I’m too happy you’re back.” While we lay there, I traced my fingertips over Harry’s cuts and bruises. My poor boy…what had they done to him? How scared had he been? I wanted to cling onto him, but I didn’t want to hurt him any more. “We don’t have to talk about it now,” I told him quietly. He nodded. “But Harry, you have to promise me that if…if it gets to be too much, being back, you _have_ to talk to someone.”

Harry forced a smile out on me. “I know. Dr. Rosenblum is only a phone call away.” Then, on a serious note, he added, “I will tell you, Roxy. Just…on my terms.”

Shaking my head, I assured him, “You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry. I don’t care how you got here, I just care that you’re home safe.” He smiled gratefully at me and I placed a palm on his cheek, loving the feel of his stubble beneath my hand. “Captain Wales, my hero.”

It would have been a sweet moment, but right after I said it, Harry looked away. His mouth set in a grim line. I shuttered, thinking of all of the terrible things that could have happened to him, and my heart broke a little. My poor, sweet boy…but an instant later, he frowned like he’d just remembered something. “Did Bianca say you’d been suspended?”

All day I hadn’t cared about the punishment, but now I was embarrassed. I felt my face flush. “Oh…we don’t have to talk about that.”

“All right, well if we’re not going to sleep and we’re not going to talk, then let’s do this,” he suggested, kissing my neck. As we peeled off our clothes (well it was mostly me doing the undressing, due to his bum arm), I let out a relieved sigh. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the feel of his body on mine, his skin on my skin. As I rocked my hips with his, I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my bottom lip. I would never have been able to live without this. And it wasn’t just the sex, it was Harry, specifically, and how much I relished the feeling of _him_. I could never live without that. Reminding myself that I would never have to, I closed my eyes and let the familiar feeling of us overcome me.


	96. Hostage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I woke up a few hours later on Wednesday morning and gasped, leaping out of bed. Harry also woke up with a start. “What? What is it?”

“Uh oh. Are you gonna like…freak out?”

Harry slowly narrowed his eyes at me, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smirk. “Is that the famous New Jersey sensitivity, asking me if I’m having post traumatic stress disorder?” I nodded sheepishly. “Then the answer is no.”

“Sorry. I was just so excited you’re back. I’m still pretty sure I’ve gone crazy and this is all one big hallucination, but I’ll take it.”

Harry grinned and gestured to his broken arm. “Why would you hallucinate me looking like I got run over by a lorrie?”

Figuring that this was some pretty sound logic, I sat back on the bed next to him. “I’m going to kiss you now, and it might hurt a little.” Sure enough, I felt Harry wince and pulled away. “Sorry! Sorry!”

He shook his head. “No, it was worth it.”

“Are you taking anything for those?” I asked of his wounds.

“Mhm.” Before I could ask, he assured me, “They’re non-opiates, and I already talked to Dr. R about them.”

I smiled at him. “Okay.” Giggling, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t stop being excited that you’re back.”

Harry ruffled my hair. “You don’t have to stop, Fox. I mean, you would have to hold yourself together if you were going back to school today, but apparently _someone_ got suspended.”

“Erg…yeah…about that…” I looked around the room, anywhere but at Harry, chewing on my bottom lip. 

“When I said that you had to act like everything was normal, did that just go in one ear and right out the other? So you decided to get suspended instead?”

“See, there’s where you’re wrong. I decided to shout at Olivia in the middle of the cafeteria for no reason, which _lead_ to me getting suspended, which was not my intention.”

“And yet, it still sounds just as bad.”

“Let’s not live in the past.”

Laughing, Harry pointed out, “It was yesterday!”

“And yesterday is over! And you’re home! And…” I paused while my stomach let out a loud growl. “I’m hungry! Let’s have breakfast. Kate taught me how to make French toast.”

“She did?” Harry asked, sounding impressed as we headed down to breakfast.

I nodded. “Mhm. I got super into cooking. And baking. And drawing. And knitting. And I ride now. Oh, and I auditioned for spring shop, and got a really good part. And Bianca and Piers are dating!”

Harry frowned. “I really wasn’t gone that long.”

*** 

Wednesday, after Harry had been sufficiently impressed by how well I'd been able to replicate Kate's French toast, things got kind of crazy. After we had breakfast, we went back to Clarence House. Now that Harry was back, the press wanted to go public with the story. Harry, his father, and his grandmother all agreed to this, although they kept out the details of Harry’s return. When he saw me, Prince Charles gave me a huge hug. “We were so worried about you waiting all alone, Roxanna.”

“I was _fine_ ,” I lied. “Besides, Kate sent Pippa over, and the good drugs.”

Kate smiled at me, but gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “I hated the thought of you waiting all by yourself.”

“I was fine,” I repeated, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “It all turned out fine.” Even after my insistance, I didn’t miss the pointed look Harry gave his father. I wondered if Prince Charles told him about our conversation at Highgrove. I kind of hoped he had. It would be nice to have someone else on my side in this whole marriage debate.

That night we went over to Buckingham to have dinner with the Queen and Prince Philip. They had already reunited with their grandson, but they were both still obviously overjoyed to have him back. Her Majesty kept asking, “You’re certain you’re not in pain?” or “Are you keeping the wounds clean?”

“Harry my boy! Join your old Grandad in a scotch!” Prince Philip insisted. “You’ve earned it!”

“No thanks, Pops,” Harry denied. “I’m not supposed to mix alcohol with the painkillers.” It was a good excuse, on the fly. Prince Philip looked disappointed, but shrugged before pouring a scotch for himself. 

Usually dinners with Harry’s entire family stressed me out. Tonight, however, there was nothing that could have ruined my mood. I didn’t even have to deal with Camilla’s snide comments because she, too, was in such good mood she forgot that she hated me. After we ate, we headed into a sitting room to watch the BBC piece on Harry’s deployment. Harry and I went back to Surrey that night, and the next morning his homecoming was breaking news. Grace called, sounding relieved. “Roxy, I’m _so_ glad he’s back.”

“Me, too.”

“Is he there now?”

“He sure is,” I beamed at him.

“Can I talk to him?”

“Sure,” I allowed, putting Grace on speakerphone.

“Harry! How are you?”

“A little worse for wear, I’m afraid,” he answered. “A broken arm, a few cuts and bruises. But that’s a lot better than a lot of the other guys can say. How’s the family?”

Before Grace could answer, we heard Eddie shout, “Hi Aunt Rocky!”

“Eddie, Mommy’s on the phone.”

“Hi Harry!” Eddie continued shouting.

Patiently, Grace explained, “Eddie, I told you, if you want to talk on the phone, you have to ask quietly.”

In the background, Eddie mumbled, “Can I talk to Aunt Rocky?” We heard the phone being passed over to him and then Eddie panting excitedly into the phone. “Aunt Rocky, Mom and Dad say Harry was at war. Was he on a horse? Did he use his sword?”

I figured I’d let Harry take this one. His eyes turned dark and grey, the storm clouds rolling in for the first time in a long time. Again, his mouth set in that grim line from the first night he’d been back. “No, I didn’t.”

“Aw _man_! Aunt Rocky? Aunt Rocky?”

“Yeah, stinker?”

“Is Harry, _Uncle_ Harry?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Grace took the phone back, thank God. We were still talking when my call waiting beeped. Glancing down at the number, I winced, realizing that it was my mom. “Good luck,” Grace offered when I told her.

I clicked over to the other line and took a deep breath. “Hey Ma. What’s up?”

“What’s. _Up_? What’s _up_? _That’s_ what you have to say to your mother whom you’ve been lying to for _months_?”

“Well…I didn’t say he _wasn’t_ in Afghanistan.”

“Roxanna Nicole! If you smart mouth me one more time!”

I didn’t let my mom finish her empty threat. “Mom! I’m sorry! I couldn’t tell anyone! I was sworn to secrecy.”

She let out a sigh. “So he’s back? Everyone’s safe and sound?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s okay,” I confirmed, running my hands through Harry’s hair, hoping that I was telling the truth.

***

Thursday night, I showed Harry more of my newly acquired cooking and baking skills. He agreed that I’d perfected my ability. “Almost as good as Kate,” he assessed.

“What do you mean, almost?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I mean…uh…even better. Is what I meant to say,” he stammered out.

Rolling my eyes, I gave him a kiss on the forehead. We went to bed and Harry popped a painkiller before passing out. I was just a little disappointed that we didn’t have sex again, but he was probably pretty tired. Plus, sex with a broken arm must have been super difficult for him. So while Harry slept, I was wide-awake. Mostly because, due to his broken nose, he was snoring like a freight train. Around four in the morning, I had finally fallen asleep when Harry was shaking me awake. “Roxy. Fox. Wake up.”

“Hm? What is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I want to tell you what happened.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Okay. Do you want me to make you some tea?” I asked. Chamomile was Bianca’s cure all, and I thought Harry might need some calming-down before he told me whatever had happened to him.

Shaking his head, Harry said, “No, I just…I need to tell you.”

Placing my palm against his face, I lightly kissed him again, letting him know that he could tell me all the gory details. A few months into our friendship, Harry and I had discussed the numerous ways in which our parents had fucked us up. Before Harry told me all about his parents, he’d confessed that he was afraid that I would judge him. I’d told him that I was the last person on the planet who was in any place to be judging anybody, and I would certainly never do it to him. I wanted him to know that was still true. 

He must have gotten the message, because he took my hand in his. His entire body was vibrating as he told me. “We were on base. Everything was fine. And then there was a mortar attack.” Mortar attacks weren’t usually serious. It was Afghani insurgents using outdated Cold War era weapons on a sophisticated military base – it was nothing. Soldiers went through hundreds of them over the course of one deployment. “I don’t know what happened. A bunch of insurgents got in somehow. I think one of them blew himself up at the entrance. Before I know it, they’re coming through, demanding the prince. I didn’t…I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me, so I offered myself up.” Harry wasn’t looking at me while he told me this. My heart started to pound, like I didn’t know how the story ended. He must have been so scared. He was several years older than me, but there were so many times that I looked at Harry and saw that little, broken-hearted eleven-year-old boy from August of 1997. 

“The other guys…tried to stop me, but…anyway, they put a hood over my face and threw me in the back of a van.” The thought of my sweet boy being treated like a prisoner in Abu Graihb made my heart tug. I wiped away my tears and let Harry continue. “We drove for hours. It felt like days. I don’t…I don’t know where we were. I just knew that someone yanked me out of the back of the van. When they took my hood off, I was in some room somewhere, I don’t know. They changed me into these clothes so I’d look like them, I guess to confuse anyone who came in trying to save me. They kept asking me how much the government would pay for me, but I didn’t think they’d pay anything. They don’t negotiate with…” 

I held a hand up. I didn’t need to hear any more. I didn’t need to hear the cliche line I’d heard out of the mouth of every politician used to justify thousands of deaths in ten years. I didn’t need to hear that Harry had thought that his life could be over in a matter of days, that there was no one willing to turn out their pockets to save “the Spare.” 

“They wanted money, but I didn’t know how to get it to them. They kept asking me how to get them the money, how much I could get them. When I told them I didn’t know, they chained me against a wall. I couldn’t sit. I had to be on my knees. They’d come in every couple of hours and beat the shit out of me. I don’t know how long I was in there. They didn’t let me sleep. The only reason they gave me food or water was to keep me awake so they could rough me up some more.” I wanted to stop him, but I knew that he wanted to tell me, and that I had to let him. I just wished we could have been doing it with Dr. R, or somewhere where I’d have access to tissues. “I couldn’t understand what they were saying half the time, but they told me I was worth more to them alive than dead. But I thought…I thought that couldn’t last forever. How long would they keep me alive waiting for money before they realized that they weren’t getting any?”

My heart was pounding in my rib cage. I knew that Harry was here, that he was back, that he was safe with me, but I also knew that he’d awoken in the middle of the night, shaking me awake to tell me about this horrific ordeal. I also knew that he was prone to self-medicating. The endless possibilities of what could happen next - PTSD, relapses, night terrors - had me close to panicked. I absolutely could not bear the thought of Harry, so scared, so certain that his life was over, just waiting for the fatal blow, just waiting for someone to decide that he was more trouble than he was worth.   
"And…and I didn’t want them to pay. I could have spoken with negotiators. The guys who captured me were on the phone with…I don’t know who. The embassy, I guess. And I knew that they wanted money, but I didn’t want anyone to pay for me. I knew they wouldn’t have paid for anyone else. So I thought…” His voice trailed off in a scratch, like he needed water and was trying to cough. "After a couple of days, I don’t know how many, they started shouting and they put the hood over my face again. I was certain they were going to shoot me. I heard tons of shouting, sounds like a helicopter, a bunch of shooting. Then someone yanked the hood off of me and asked me to identify myself. There were a bunch of SAS there.” I’d picked up on some of Harry and William’s army lingo over the years. SAS was the Special Air Service, and they were akin to Navy Seals or Green Berets. “They got me into a helicopter and flew me back to base. I didn’t know what happened until I was on my way back home. They told me that it wasn’t even al qaeda, just a group of men who thought they could hold me hostage for ransom money.” 

“Are you okay?” I asked stupidly. How could anyone be okay after that? ”Do you need to take a meeting?” All of the Anonymous programs - NA, AA, and the others - had meetings every hour on the hour. There were a couple of times when I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find Harry trying to quietly leave the house for a meeting, or trying to sneak back in so as not to wake me up. It made sense. A desire to go back to that lifestyle could come at any time, and sometimes it happened at midnight, or two in the morning. 

Harry didn’t answer me. “I think I have to go talk to Dr. R tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call him and set up an appointment. Do you need another painkiller?”

Taking a shaky breath, Harry shook his head. “Roxy, I…I had to tell you what happened, because I had to tell you that…when I heard the shooting, when I thought I was going to die, the only thing I could think about…” Harry choked back a sob, and I covered my mouth to muffle own. “The only thing I could think about was that I was breaking my promise to come back to you.”

“It’s okay,” I tried to soothe him, pulling me into him. Harry rested his head on my chest, soaking my shirt through with his tears and snot. His entire body was vibrating, and radiating heat. I’d never seen him this vulnerable before, and I’d seen him pretty broken. As he let out strangled sobs and hiccups, I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re here. You’re safe. You came back to me.” Eventually, he fell back asleep, and I snuck out of bed to call Dr. Rosenblum and tell him that Harry needed to come in as soon as possible.


	97. Leprechauns & Unicorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After a lazy day on Thursday that primarily involved watching movies, eating, using the Jacuzzi, and making love, Harry and I went back into London on Friday to see Dr. R. He shook Harry’s hand, welcoming him home, and I waited while the two of them had a session in Kensington. When William and Kate came over, I told them what was going on, and Kate pouted, "Poor Harry.” William wrapped a comforting arm around her and kissed her temple. “When do you get to go back to school, Roxy?” she asked.

Blowing out a breath, I muttered, “Monday.”

She gave me a scrutinizing look. “And you know you’re going to have to apologize to Olivia, right?”

“I know, I know,” I told her. “I think we’re all forgetting that I was under severe emotional duress!” The Cambridges both gave me a flat look, not buying my excuse. “Ugh. I _hate_ it when you guys are so nice!” 

“So you’ve said,” William smirked.

When Harry was done with Dr. Rosenblum, I asked if he wanted to stay in London or go back home. He wasn’t keen to be seen out looking all banged up, so we got a driver to bring us back to the Surrey house after sending out a decoy car.

On Saturday morning, I brewed Harry’s tea, feeling happier than I’d been in…I couldn’t remember how long. A few months ago, if someone had told me that the thing that would bring me the most joy in life would be to make tea and breakfast for my boyfriend, I would have thought they were crazy. And yet, here I was, in our kitchen, making our breakfast. _He’s home_ , I thought as I scrambled eggs in a pan, idly stirring with a smile on my face, humming the _Sleeping Beauty_ waltz. 

“Good morning,” Harry greeted me, wrapping an arm around my waist. He smelled delicious. I closed my eyes and leaned back against him, savoring the feel of his body against mine. “I’m starving.”

“Good, I made you breakfast,” I told him before spooning the eggs onto a plate for him. We sat down to eat but, strangely, I had no appetite. I chose, instead, to bask in his presence – another thing I would have thought improbable just months ago.

“Roxanna, you've got to stop staring at me. It’s strange,” he squirmed.

“I’m sorry,” I giggled, and then reached out to run my hands through his soft rusty hair. “I’m just so happy you’re here, right in front of me.”

Harry took my hand and kissed it. “I’m happy I’m here, right in front of you,” he told me. I let out a happy sigh and he pulled his chair closer to mine. “Roxanna, I spoke to Dr. R about it, and I think now we should have a conversation about our marriage.”

I blanched. “What? Why?”

“What with everything that’s happened, it’s made me think that you and I should think about the future, and our marriage,” Harry explained, using the "M" word again.

The “explanation” baffled me still. “Well, are we also going to talk about leprechauns and unicorns? Because those things don’t exist, either.”

Patiently, Harry let my comment fly by him. “Why are you so reluctant to even just discuss this?”

Shaking my head, I explained, “I thought we were done with this. You wanted to get engaged so that I could be included if anything happened while you were deployed. Well you were deployed, and now you’re back. So why are we still talking about this?”

With more patience than a saint, Harry kissed my forehead. “Roxanna, my darling, wouldn’t it have made you feel better if you had been allowed to wait at Clarence House? At least then you would have been with Will and Kate, and people you could rely on.”

He had a point. “It wasn’t so bad,” I mumbled, even though we both knew it wasn’t true. “I had Pippa and Bianca.”

Pulling away, Harry took our empty plates and placed them in the dishwasher, which took kind of a long time when he only had one arm. He took a deep breath before turning back to me so we could continue our conversation. “We seriously need to consider this, Fox.”

“I just don’t see why marriage is necessary right now,” I repeated. 

“Necessary for you and I or necessary for the world?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Both. Maybe it made sense when people only lived until they were thirty and being with one person for the rest of your life wasn’t that long, but we’re not cavemen anymore. Besides, why would we get engaged right now anyway? You’re not going to be deployed again.” Pausing, I asked, “Are you?”

Harry didn’t answer my question. “I don’t believe cavemen got married.”

“Henry Charles Albert David, are you getting deployed again?” I demanded.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I would, but I don’t think Gran will let me after that.”

“You’re damn right she won’t! Are you out of your fucking _mind_?” Harry blinked. I wasn’t one to use the “f” word a whole lot. “You want to go back to that again _and_ you’re talking about getting engaged? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Raising an eyebrow and crossing his good arm over his chest, Harry asked, “So it’s insane to want to marry you?”

Honestly, I thought that actually was pretty insane. “Right now? Yes! Seriously! I’m asking – why do you want to get married?” If he wasn’t going to be deployed again, I really didn’t see what the rush was.

I knew I was exhausting him when Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “Because that’s what people do, Roxanna – they fall in love, and they get married.” He must have been getting pretty pissed to call me by my full name.

“Yes, and when they do it when they're as young as I am, then they get divorced,” I finished for him. “Who do you know who fell in love and got married this young, who is _still_ married? Because I don’t know anyone. Even Will and Kate waited for a _long_ time!”

“And _we_ ,” Harry gestured to the empty space between us, “have waited a _long_ time!”

Three years was not, in my opinion, a long time. Plus, we’d been broken up for a huge chunk of that time. I apparently had some filter left, though, because I knew that now probably wasn’t the time to point that out to him. “Not long enough for me to be convinced that this is a good idea,” I admitted. “What is the rush right now? It seems like the most likely scenario is, we get married, we have a couple of kids, then we start hating each other and we get divorced. I don’t want that.”

Through gritted teeth, Harry said, “I don’t want that, either, I just want to marry the woman I love.” It would have been more romantic if he didn’t practically have smoke coming out of his nostrils. 

I wasn’t really sure why, but now I was getting angry. This was way too much. My boyfriend had been deployed, something traumatizing had happened, I’d gotten suspended from school during the most important time imaginable, my boyfriend had come back, banged up and bloody, and then he’d told me that he’d been held hostage for three days. There were far too many emotions going on, and I had to choose one, and it was anger. My chair scraped loudly against the tile as I stood up. “I never wanted to get married young, Harry. It doesn’t make sense to me, and quite frankly, I don’t see why it makes sense to you. You say people in love get married? Okay, great, that's true. But let’s go ask everyone we know who fell in love and got married when they were as young as both of us. I’ll go call my mom, and see how it worked out for her. Or why don’t you go ahead and call your dad. Or your Auntie Anne, or your Uncle Andrew.” Just thinking about all of the failed marriages that I could list made my blood boil. It didn’t make sense to me why anyone would want to get married this young, let alone Harry. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I'd want to get married at all if I'd been in love with anyone else except Harry. It wasn't really an option for him, and I had come to terms with that, but that didn't mean that we had to get engaged before I could order a Bud Light on a visit to my mom's. Also, why were we even talking about this? Why was this even an issue? He was literally standing there still broken from being held for ransom. Weren’t there more important things we should have been discussing?

“Is this about my parents?” he asked, and I could tell that he was not only pissed but greatly offended by the notion that I was in any way comparing our relationship to that of his parents’.

“No, Harry, it’s not about _your_ parents. You’re not the only person here who comes from a broken home! Poor little rich boy, I bet it was really fucking hard for you. Well it _was_ hard for me, Harry, to watch that happen to me, and I’m not going to bring children into this world so that I can watch it happen to them! But I’m sure you can’t understand any of that. Just because my pain wasn’t splashed all over the pages of doesn’t mean it didn’t exist!” When Bianca had been struggling with her eating disorder, Harry and I had held an intervention. At one point, she’d gotten so vicious that I was convinced that it wasn’t her. There was no way that my very best friend on this earth could be saying such horrible things. I felt the same way about myself now; like I was watching some horrible bitch yell at this wonderful man who – just five minutes ago – she’d been blissfully happy about. While the words shot out of my mouth, I _knew_ I should shut up, but I didn’t. I just kept going, like he wasn’t hurt enough already. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed into slits and he answered in a clipped tone. “Maybe you’re right, Roxanna. Keep it up and we won’t need to have this conversation at all.”

He left the house and slammed the door, which I didn’t even think someone with a broken arm could do. I heard his car start up and pull out of the driveway. It felt like someone had torn a chunk out of my heart. How could he drive with his arm in a sling? _Ugh. Way to go DeLaSearle. Nice welcome home party._

Almost as soon as he’d gone, Will and Kate came home. “Hey. We just saw Harry leaving. Where’s he going?” William asked.

Forcing out a smile, I shook my head. “He had something to clear up with your dad at Clarence House. He’ll be back later.” Roxanna DeLaSearle – raging bitch and pathological liar. William put away groceries in the kitchen and, sensing that something was wrong, Kate beckoned for me to follow her up to her room. I did, flopping down on the cushy seat in her closet. “I’m terrible,” I confessed. “I’m a terrible person.”

“We have far too many conversations that start like that,” she pointed out. I filled her in on the conversation I'd just had with Harry and she blew out a breath. “Well…you’re not in the running for sainthood any time soon.”

“How could I say those things to him?” I asked her, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. “Literally minutes ago I was so happy he was back. How could I say all of that?”  
She smoothed a piece of my hair down. “You were upset. He’ll forgive you.”

When she said no more, I looked at her. “But?”

“I’m just sort of confused. What’s so terrible about getting married? You’re too smart to think that your marriage will look anything like your parents’,” she assured me.

Shrugging, I answered, “I just don’t see what’s so great about it. Why do people even get married? The entire concept of it just seems so stupid.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “So you think Will and I were stupid to get married?”

I shook my head. “Of course not, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” she corrected me.

“It’s different,” I struggled to explain. “You and Will were older than us, and you’d been together for a long time, and you broke up that one time.”

“You’ve done all that, too. Maybe you’re not as old as we were, but you’ve done all that. He’s not proposing right now, Roxy. He’s just trying to talk to you about it.”

Sighing and knowing I was defeated, I asked, “Would you mind terribly if I asked you and Will to give us some space again tonight?”

Beaming at me, Kate shook her head. “Not in the slightest. I’ll leave you the recipe for his favorite pudding.”

***

By the time Harry came home, I’d driven myself crazy…or crazier than I’d been when he left. Trying to take my mind off of the horrible things I’d said, I cleaned the house from top to bottom. In Harry’s absence, and the days I’d spent waiting, certain things had gone undone. The floors needed vacuuming, the dishes needed to be run through the dishwasher, and there was laundry that needed to be done. When I’d cleaned every inch of the house, I made lamb chops with olives and rosemary – a Marco Pierre White recipe – and sticky toffee pudding. I put on a nice dress and lit some candles and felt slightly ridiculous when Harry walked into the house. Slowly, he set his keys on the kitchen counter and looked around. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“This is me, saying I’m sorry for being terrible,” I admitted. Harry glanced at me cautiously. “Come sit.” He did and I served him, but I was too nervous to eat anything.

“I’m having déjà vu,” Harry finally said after a few bites. It was true; I was just staring at him again, but this time I was nervously waiting for him to tell me that I was a horrible bitch and he never wanted to see me again.

Clearing my throat, I offered, “Let’s talk.” 

Harry looked at me as if to see if I was sure. I nodded and he sat back in his chair. “I know you’ve got your problems with marriage, and I understand them, Fox. But I love you. I did _not_ like you not knowing what was going on when I was away, at all. I certainly didn’t like not being able to speak with you. And…well, Roxanna, this is who I am. I’m sorry, and I know you’ll think it’s outrageous and incredibly old fashioned, and you’re right, but it’s my _job_ to get married and have children. It’s what I was put on this earth to do. I have to do it, Roxanna, and I want to do it with you.” I opened my mouth to reply but Harry continued, taking my hand and squeezing it. “I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow, or even in a year. I just thought that we had already agreed to having a real future together.”

“We had,” I confirmed. "I'm sorry. I know you're you and that means certain things. I just wasn't expecting to talk about...making it real, so soon."

"I understand," Harry nodded.

I reached out and covered his hand with mine. "We can talk about it more seriously. I won't freak out again. All in, remember?"

Harry smiled at me. “All in." After he'd leaned forward and given me a peck on the mouth, he suggested, "Let’s go to bed.” He got up and offered me his hand. When I took it, he pulled me out of my chair and into him, nibbling softly on my earlobe.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, resting my head on his chest. “I can’t believe I said those awful things.” Sighing, I tilted my head back to look up at him. “If we get married, promise me it can always be like this. Promise me that when I’m awful, you can forgive me.”

“As long as you can forgive me,” Harry vowed, and then he kissed me, and the conversation was over.


	98. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

On Sunday morning, I woke up and made coffee before sitting down at the table next to Harry. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

He chuckled. “You sound so enthusiastic.” I glared at him and he asked, “Do you think this is a good idea right now?”

I nodded. Now was as good a time as any. “I promise not to get mad and scary,” I vowed.

He chuckled. “When we’re married, you’ll have to start using the word ‘angry.’ ‘Mad’ means you’re insane.” I rolled my eyes and Harry continued. “Right, let’s talk. When do you want to get married?”

“Don’t you think this is a little silly?” I asked him. “I mean, you haven’t proposed and we’re setting a date.”

“We’re not setting a date,” he shook his head. “We’re making an outline. A plan. Like a business.”

“So our relationship is a business?” I raised an eyebrow.

He was already getting annoyed, which I saw as he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Fox,” he said in a warning tone.

Holding my hands up, I ceded, “All right, all right. So I guess…we should look at the next couple of years of our lives. In a few months, I’ll be finished with school.”

“And you’ll get offers,” he added.

“That remains to be seen. Especially after last week,” I muttered, getting the feeling like something was clawing the pit of my stomach. 

Harry snickered, thinking about me terrorizing the lunchroom. “Let’s assume that you _do_ get offers. I think the most important thing to do would be to make sure we’re both fulfilled in our careers before we get married.”

Frowning, I asked, “But can’t I work after we’re married?”

Harry thought about this. “Well, I suppose you could, in theory, but it would be hard. We’ll have official duties to perform, and you can’t be taking weeks off from work all the time.”

“William worked,” I pointed out, "and he just didn’t go to those things if they were while he’s supposed to be working.”

“Exactly,” Harry pointed out. “He sent Kate.”

With a huff, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well that doesn’t seem fair. _I_ have to go because _you_ want to work?”

Harry reached forward and gave my knee a squeeze in an attempt to calm me down. How in tune he was with my wants and needs only made me more annoyed, but I knew that was irrational. “William _stopped_ working. And no offense or anything but…Kate isn’t like you – she didn’t have a career she needed to prioritize.”

“Harry,” I scolded him for insulting my friend.

“Look, I love Kate, you know that, but let’s not pretend that she didn’t sit around waiting for William to propose for a few years.” This was kind of spinning the facts. Kate had worked for a clothing company in London first, and then with her parents. If I’d been her, I would have worked in the privacy of my own home, too. She was often accused of sitting around waiting for a proposal, hence Waity Katie. I mean, so she wasn’t the most ambitious career woman on the face of the earth, but she wasn’t just sitting on a _chaise longue_ being fanned with palm leaves while someone fed her grapes off the vine. “And he did, and that’s great, but that’s what happened. Their version of this conversation was quite different, I promise you that.” I agreed, but I didn’t want to say so out loud, so I just kept quiet and let him continue. “How about this – we’ll both retire. Once we get married, I’ll retire from the army as well, so we’ll both be giving up our careers. It wouldn’t be right, to ask you to do what I was unwilling to do myself.”

My heart swelled up and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. He kissed my cheek and I pulled away. “But I don’t like the sound of that, both of us giving up our careers.”

“Well how would you put it?” he asked.

Pausing, I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess ‘retirement’ is a better word. I just want to make sure that I feel fulfilled. Like, that I’ve done everything I can do and taken my career as far as I can, and I’m done.”

“But, my darling, you may not feel that way until you’re forty,” Harry pointed out.

I scoffed. “Harry, a dancer is lucky if she gets to keep dancing until she’s thirty. You get ten years, _maybe_ a few more if you don’t get injured.”

“See? That solves our problems for us,” he pointed out.

I glared at him. “I’m glad you’re so looking forward to me twisting an ankle.”

“Really? You’re going to try and play that card right now?” he asked, looking down at his broken arm.

“I didn’t ask for you to break your arm!” I defended myself.   
“Yeah, but you’re not unhappy about it.”

Okay. He had a point. “Only because it got you sent home faster,” I muttered.

“See?” And me getting hurt would send us down the aisle faster. _Damn._ “So…how long do you think you need?”

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “You want me to predict at what point in the future I’ll feel like I’ve gotten the most out of my career and am ready to make the biggest decision of my life?” Harry shrugged, letting me know that was _exactly_ what he was doing. I had to think this through. “Okay, well…I want to be married for a year or two before we decide to have kids, and I want to have my first kid at thirty.” These were all things I hadn’t thought of before. They were just coming out of my mouth. Probably they’d been in my subconscious, buried deep down there so that I wouldn’t get distracted by anything else I may or may not have wanted in my future besides dancing. I hadn’t thought about my future past third year spring shop very possibly ever, at least not any more specifically than that hopefully I’d get offers and hopefully I’d still be with Harry. Now, however, these decisions just seemed like they made sense. 

“How many kids?” Harry asked with a grin. He always liked planning for the future.

“Lots,” I finally decided. I’d only had one older sister, and Grace and I had never been close. My dad was one of six siblings, and that had always sounded so fun to me. 

Chuckling, Harry kissed my temple. “Okay. Lots then. So let’s say we have our first baby when you’re thirty. That means we’ll get married when you’re twenty-eight, if you wanted a couple of years to be just us. We’ll need some time to plan the wedding, of course, so…twenty-seven?”

This actually didn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would. Twenty-seven was a long way away. Who knew what would happen? Who knew what _wouldn’t_ happen? With a casual shrug, I answered, “Yeah, sure. Twenty-seven. I’ll retire. We’ll get engaged. We’ll get married. I’ll pop out some kids.”

Harry gave me a curious look. “You seem very casual about all this.”  
“It’s seven years away,” I reminded him. “In seven years, we might hate each other. I might get hit by a bus. There are a lot of variables.”

Laughing, he asked, “So you’re only so calm because you think it might not happen?”

“No!” I assured him, laughing at myself. “No, it’s just…one day at a time.”

Nodding, Harry pressed his forehead to mine and agreed, “One day at a time.”

***

Being suspended during the week that Harry came back was both a blessing and a curse. I would have felt terrible leaving him, but I also felt terrible missing out on classes. It made me feel lazy, and I knew that there was no way it was actually possible, but I could have _sworn_ that I saw a little pooch growing under my belly button. With a groan, I called Kate. “Are you going for a run today?”

“I was just going to go to the gym to use the treadmill. It looks like it might rain.”

“Well wait until I get there and we can go together.”

She sucked in a dramatic gasp. “Roxy DeLaSearle going to a _gym_?”

“Har har, very funny.” When I hung up, I asked Harry if he wanted to go to KP. 

“Sure. Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m slowly turning into Orson Wells,” I muttered, causing him to spit out his tea and choke with laughter. “It’s not funny! When I’m the size of the _Hindenburg_ you’re still going to have to love me!”

We headed into London and I hopped on a treadmill next to Kate. The gym at KP was top notch, but it was just like a gym in any other office. People who worked there used it, too, and sometimes it could feel a little crowded, but today it wasn’t so bad. 

“So,” Kate panted on her treadmill. “I’m assuming the talk with Harry went well.”

I shrugged and glared at how fast she was going. Kate looked like she was running a marathon. I looked like I was going for a light jog…very possibly to pick up a Twinkie. “It went better than me yelling at him, if that’s what you mean.” Kate smiled. “I think we’re on the same page.”

“Do you have a time frame?” she asked.

While I wondered how she was still talking, I answered, “Roughly. A lot of it depends on if I get any offers.”

“What are you going to do if you have to leave London?” she asked.

This was where our conversation had gotten murky. “We haven’t exactly worked that out yet,” I admitted.

“William proposed to me twice, you know,” she told me. At my confused look, she nodded. “First we had this conversation, that you’re doing now. William wanted to set a date, because of the Jubilee and the Olympics,” she referenced two big events that had occurred in the city shortly after they’d gotten married. “And he didn’t want to have to wait until those were all done, because the press kept calling me Waity Katey, which was humiliating.” I smirked. “And then he proposed to me in Africa, which was the actually getting down on one knee and giving me the ring bit.”

“Were you surprised?” I asked.

Kate nodded. “Of course I was. Have you _seen_ this ring?” Just in case I hadn’t, she stuck it under my nose.

“I’ve seen the ring,” I rolled my eyes.

We went back to she and Will’s apartment and she suggested that we call up B and Pippa, for a get together while everyone was in town. I took her up on this idea, calling up the girls after I showered. “Are we trying to have a girls night?” Bianca asked.

“No, Harry and Will are going to be here. Why?”

“Because I sort of had plans with Piers tonight…”

“This is so weird.”

“Roxy!”

“What? I’m just not used to it yet!”

“Well _get_ used to it.”

Amused, I asked, “ _Should_ I get used to it?”

“Can we talk about this later?” she asked through clenched teeth, letting me know that Piers was within hearing distance. Laughing, I told her we could, and to bring him along tonight.

Kate and I waited for our friends, opening a bottle of red and one of white while Harry and Will watched a rugby match, erupting in boos or cheers, accordingly. I poured myself a glass of merlot before dipping a celery stalk into some hummus we’d put out. Kate was taking a swig from her wine glass when a thought occurred to me. “Don’t you ever worry that you’ll have a kid and it’ll be horrible?”

Kate did a spit take (the second I’d caused that day, I proudly noted) into the sink and then let out a loud laugh. Curious, William called from the other room, “What nonsense are you talking about this time, Roxy?”

“It’s a completely legitimate concern!” I insisted. “What if you have a kid, and it’s, like, a terrible spoiled brat?”

Harry joined Kate and I in the kitchen and started boiling water for tea. “William was horrible.”

“He _was_?” I blinked. I probably sounded a little more surprised than was necessary, but, well, it was surprising! William was so…good now. He was just kind and soft spoken, and he never got in trouble. Well, not trouble like Harry. “So…what made you stop?”

“Who says he has?” Harry asked, dropping a tea bag in a mug. 

I grinned as William joined us in the kitchen with an eye roll. Harry instinctively made him a cup of tea, too. My heart warmed. How close their bond was, was adorable. When we’d been trying to encourage Harry to get help for his addictions, William had asked him how he thought the rest of the family would go on, after the loss of their mother, and then Harry. He may not have shown it to me, or probably anyone but Kate, but he must have been terrified for the past three four months, too. “Um…I think my mum talked to me about it,” he tried to remember. “I think she said that it was my responsibility to treat everyone else the way I wanted to be treated, and that I wasn’t treating people that way.”

“Okay,” I nodded slowly. “But what if your kid sucks, and you tell it that, but it doesn’t listen?” As I was asking this, the doorbell rang and William opened it to all of our friends.

“Can we stop referring to our child as ‘it’?” Kate requested.

Pippa stopped in her tracks from heading into the kitchen. “Child?” she repeated, clutching one hand over her heart.

“No! No!” Kate shook her head, laughing. “No, I’m not pregnant! It was just a hypothetical!”

Pippa let out a relieved sigh. “Fuck, Catherine. I think I had a heart attack.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Bianca asked, picking a carrot off the tray and nibbling on it.

“I’ve no idea,” Kate pointed out. “Roxy started it.”

As everyone’s heads slowly turned to me, I suddenly felt embarrassed and ridiculous. “I’m just saying! What if someone has a kid and it totally sucks! You’ve seen those Super Nanny shows!”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “Anything you want to tell us, Harry?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not that I know of. Roxy?”

With a “hmph,” I crossed my arms over my chest. “No one is pregnant! I was just curious! God, can’t a girl ask questions anymore?”

Piers jerked his head back before scrunching up his face like I was an alien. “Not bloody weird ones, no,” he answered, and I laughed while everyone else did, too. Here we were, back in KP, having drinks and laughing with our friends. It was sort of like the past four months had never happened.


	99. Back To School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

We stayed at Kensington on Sunday night, and I decided that I should go into school early on Monday to apologize to Madam, although hopefully it wouldn’t take that long. If I had my way, I’d just go inside, say, “Sorry for being an asshole,” and then leave…I sort of thought that wasn’t _totally_ realistic, though. On Monday morning, I got dressed slowly while Harry hummed the funeral march from bed. “You’re not making this any better, you know.”

He laughed. “Oh come on, it won’t be that bad. All things considered, this isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

I thought about this. “Yeah. It’s a tough decision. Coming into class still drunk from the night before and falling on my face? Or throwing a lunch table at a schoolmate like I’m a Real Housewife?” After I’d pulled on my street clothes over my ballet uniform, I crawled back onto the bed next to him, cuddling up again, just for a minute. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll still be here when you get back, I promise.”

My heart burst at the thought and I gave him another hard kiss on the mouth. “Hey, when do you get that thing off?” I asked pointing to his cast.  
“Good question. I have to go to the doctor tomorrow and see,” he told me. 

“I hope it’s soon. I’m sick of feeling like a sexual predator every time I try to kiss you.” Harry laughed and I kissed his forehead before heading off to school.

As I had fully anticipated she would, Madam made me wait outside of her office for several agonizing minutes. Finally, I heard her call, “You may come in, Miss DeLaSearle.”

My leggs wobbled as I entered her office. She watched carefully while I sat in the chair across from her desk. I just wanted to shrink back into the cushioning and disappear. I could feel my cheeks get red and my chest get splotchy. “Madam, I wanted to come here this morning and apologize to you for my behavior last week.” She didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow. It felt like I’d had way too many conversations like this with Madam – me trying to explain something, her clearly remaining unsatisfied. “I realize that it was completely inappropriate, and I’m extremely embarrassed.”

To my complete surprise, Madam sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. “Well…I can’t blame it entirely on you.”

“You…you can’t?” I stammered out.

“Roxy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t like the tabloid stories any more than you do. _Especially_ when the sources are girls here. You’re supposed to be able to trust this place. You’re supposed to be able to trust _me_. You should have told me what was going on. I might have been able to help you.”

“Well I…I wasn’t allowed to say anything,” I offered, still wildly confused as to why she was suddenly changing her attitude. 

“I’ve never wanted you to be treated any differently than any other student,” she explained. “I may not have always achieved this goal, but if any other girl had been going through what you were going through…there would have been different…procedures.” Before I could stammer out any more in my confusion, she went on. “This is what I mean, Roxanna. You’ve worked your entire life for dancing, to come here. Are you ready to enter this world where you have to live like _this_?” When she said this, she gestured to me, and I assumed by “like this” she meant pathetically making apologies because of my royal connections. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, just like me getting drunk and falling in class hadn’t been his fault, but it wouldn’t have happened if not for him. That reasoning was why OJ had been found guilty in the civil suit...which wasn't the best thing to be compared to...  
Still baffled by Madam’s reaction, I tried to explain. “Madam, I’m not entering any world. I’m just…” I shrugged, unable to finish my sentence.

She gave me a skeptical look. “So there’s been no talk of marriage?” At my shocked expression, she shook her head. “I know this is none of my business, but you have your last spring workshop coming up, and there are going to be a lot of ballet companies asking me things like this. They don’t want to sign you if you’re only going to be there for six months before you drop out to plan your wedding at Westminster Abbey.”

“Oh,” I acknowledged, feeling deflated. For the past three years I'd been insisting that Madam had no right to be involved in any of this, to give me any of her lectures, to disapprove of who I was dating. I guess I'd never thought of it from this point of view before and, annoyingly enough, it made sense. “Well…then no. I’m not…we’re not talking about marriage or anything.” At least not any time soon…and Westminster Abbey? Please. I wasn’t going to get married at the same place as Kate, that would just be in poor taste.

“Good. Then you may go,” she dismissed me. Before I opened the door, however, she called me back. “Oh, just one more moment, Roxanna.” Wincing, I turned around, bracing for whatever was coming next. “You’re staying late on Saturday to wash mirrors.” _Crap._ “And you have to apologize to Miss Guest.”

Hanging my head, I mumbled, “ _Oui, Madam_ ,” and made my way to conditioning.

***

Spring shop rehearsals had started, and I was busier than usual. I was surprised at how easily we all fell back into a routine. Harry was seeing Dr. Rosenblum more often, and he had checkups for his arm, but other than that, things were exactly as they were before he’d left. The four of us settled back into our routine of eating together, laughing together, zoning out in front of the TV together, and working out together. Harry and I got our picture taken, hand in hand, at one of William’s polo matches, and all of the rumors about Ruairi and I went away. I loved practicing for spring shop, and I loved the fact that I knew Harry would be back at home when I got there, but it was still really hard to leave him, which made my mirror-washing punishment suck even more on Saturday after conditioning.

I squeejeed the mirrors on the third-year floor before moving up to the second- and first-year floors. When I got to the top floor, I paused before entering the studio. Olivia was working on her spring shop piece…alone. There were no other girls in the studio with her, even though I’d just wiped down mirrors one-studio-over where several girls were getting in some more practice. Me shouting at her in front of everyone probably hadn’t helped her gain any new friends, or to stop feeling like a social pariah. I gently knocked on the doorframe to the studio and Olivia turned around. She stared at me for a few minutes before walking quietly over to the CD player and pressing the stop button. “Can I come in?” I asked cautiously.

Olivia didn’t say anything, and I chose to take her silence as allowance. I took my sneakers off and headed over to the piano bench. “That looked good,” I noted, sitting down. Olivia still didn’t respond, just looked down at her feet. “Look, Olivia, I’ve been under an insane amount of stress for the past four months, and I took it out on you, and that was wrong. I feel like a giant bitch for shouting at you last week about something you had absolutely nothing to do with.”

Olivia chewed on her bottom lip for a minute. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to the other girls. I didn’t mean for it to get out.”

I waved a hand. “Olivia, if you actually think any of that was your fault, you’re on crack.” She finally gave me a small smile, and I felt a little less guilty. “Look, we never got to do that spa day I suggested before…before everything happened. Why don’t we go out tomorrow?”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes growing as wide as the moon.

“Yeah, and then…we can come back here and practice some more. I mean, my boyfriend isn’t on the front lines anymore, and I don’t think he’ll be in much danger in Surrey.”

Olivia shook her head. “Roxy, I know you’re busy…”

“I have to practice, anyway. I could probably use some relaxation, too.”

After she’d opened and closed her mouth a few times, she finally agreed, “Okay. That would be awesome.”

“Great,” I smiled back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She nodded and I turned around to leave the studio. I was putting my shoes back on when she spoke up.

“Roxy?” I turned around, raising my eyebrows at her. “Is he…okay?”

Again, I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. “He will be,” I assured her. She nodded and I walked out of the RBA, making my way to the train through a gaggle of photographers.


	100. Last Spring Shop Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Before I knew it, it was our last week of classes, and I was saying goodbye to Marcus. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one getting emotional. After our last pas de deux class, the entire studio was thick with the sound of all of the other couples parting ways. Weeping, I hugged Marcus. “I h-h-hope you get offers from P-P-Paris,” I blubbered at him.

“I hope you get to be Princess Roxy,” he wished, wiping his eyes.

When I got back to Surrey, Harry held his arms out to me. His cast had finally been taken off, and not a moment too soon. “Tough day saying goodbye to Marcus?” I nodded, bursting into fresh tears on his navy shirt. “It’s gonna be okay, Fox. You’ll still talk all the time.”

“What if we don’t? What if I don’t get any offers? What if I only get an offer from somewhere terrible?”

Harry chuckled, until I glared up at him and he realized that I was being serious. “You’ll get _loads_ of offers, and none of them will be from somewhere terrible.”

He might have been right, but it was with a heavy heart that I went into my last Saturday morning conditioning class. I woke up the same way I had nearly every Saturday morning for the last three years: got out of bed, showered, rolled on a pair of pink tights, pulled on a black leotard, twisted my thick hair up into a bun, covered it with a hairnet, secured it with bobby pins. Harry handed me my coffee with a watchful eye. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Nodding at him, I took the coffee and left for the train.

The rest of the girls and I were all stretching in the studio in complete silence. More than ever this year I wanted B there with me. My eyes had already started to sting slightly by the time Madam entered the room. She looked around at all of us, waiting for her to begin class the same way she had every single Saturday. This was harder to do, however, when her eyes got misty. Luckily, before I had the time to get any more emotional, she clapped her hands together and cleared her throat. “Ladies, let's begin.”

At the end of the three-hour class, she told us all to sit. “Next week you ladies will be performing in your final spring workshop. I still remember the first class I had with all of you three years ago. You were all so nervous, so unknowing of all the next three years had to hold.” She paused to wipe away a tear. “You ladies have all impressed me so much. I have never been more proud of a class than I am of you. I know that you will all go on to be beautiful dancers, and I look forward to watching all of the progress you have made next week.”

The room was full of the sounds of all of the girls sniffling and crying. We exited the studio, single-file, all of us giving Madam a farewell hug. When I got to her, she held me by the shoulders. “Scarecrow, I think I’ll miss you most of all,” she smiled through her tears at me.

I didn’t try to wipe mine away as I gave her a hug. My mind immediately flashed back to three years ago, the first time there had been any leaks to the press from school. She’d given the class a speech defending me, and I’d clumsily thrown my arms around her. Finally, something clicked in my mind. 

I wasn’t the same awkward eighteen-year-old girl, with wild hair, knobby knees, pointy elbows, and no clue as to how to control the things that came out of my mouth at any given moment. Somehow, over the last three years, without me realizing it, I’d grown up. Things had happened – my heart had broken, my best friend had needed me, the love of my life had been in imminent danger, I’d made amazing friends, I’d drank too much wine, I’d seen Paris, I’d gotten closer to my big sister. I’d made so many mistakes, and very few good decisions, and after every single one of those I’d come back here, to the school, the studio, the ballet barre. If someone were to write a biography of my life, these three years would have been the longest and most important chapters. And now they were over.

I didn’t try to hide my tears as I left school. Usually I never let the paparazzi see me doing anything other than smiling, but now I didn’t care. “Roxy! Roxy how was your last day at school?” I tried to cover my face with my arm and kept walking.

***

I had to pull myself together for the next week at least, because I still had spring shop rehearsals. Every night when we were finished, I’d get back to Surrey, have a glass of wine, and cry, just a little. It felt like in the past five months, I’d run the entire gamut of human emotion. If nothing else, I was completely exhausted. We were curled up in the armchair in front of the empty fireplace one night when Harry suggested, “I know what will help you relax. A little holiday after spring shop?”

The last time Harry had suggested the two of us go on holiday, it had been to France and Monaco, and it had been absolutely amazing. Before I got too excited, though, a thought occurred to me. “Wait a minute, I can’t go on vacation. I have to stay here and wait for offers.”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry asked, “So you’re just going to sit around, waiting for the phone to ring?”

“Um…well, yes, but in a less pathetic-sounding way than you just described.”

“Look, why don’t you come to Balmoral? You won’t be that far away, and it’ll take your mind off getting offers.”

“I _can’t_ take my mind off getting offers,” I insisted.

“So then what difference does it make where you are?”

“Because, it’s going to be stressful enough waiting for a job. I don’t need the Rottweiler calling me common and filthy on top of it.” Chuckling, Harry said I should consider it and I lied to him that I would. I had no intention of doing anything except for waiting for the phone to ring…but in a less pathetic-sounding way than that.

“By the way,” he added, kissing my temple. “We’re coming to watch.”

“Who’s we?” I asked slowly.

Harry counted off the names. “Well, me and Will, Kate, of course. Bianca, Piers, Pippa, Bea and Eugenie, Dad, Zara and Mike, Peter and Autumn and they’re bringing Savannah, Camilla, and Granny and Grandad.”

I glared at him. “So the entire family.”

“Give or take,” he shrugged. “Most of them have never seen you dance, and Gran said she wanted to, and then all the others kind of jumped on board.”

“Did you miss the part when I said I didn’t want to be stressed out any more?”

***

Olivia dropped by the dress rehearsal for third year shop that week. “It looks really good,” she told me during a water break.

“Thanks.”

“Are you sad? To be leaving?” she asked timidly.

Sighing, I told her I was. “It’s bittersweet. I’m sad to be leaving, and really worried about getting offers.”

“You’ll get offers,” Olivia said in the same certain tone Harry had been using for the past few weeks.

“Hm. We’ll see.” Wiping the sweat off my chest, I took another gulp of water. “I think I’m all out of life advice.”

“Aw, shucks,” Olivia jokingly snapped her fingers. “Well I’m not here for life advice.”

“Thank God,” I let out a dramatic breath.

“I just wanted to let you know that my roommate copped to selling the stories. She told me yesterday. I’m really sorry.”

I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Olivia. Really.” I shook my head, feeling guilty about the way I’d treated her. “You know, when you first got here, everyone said that I was just acting weird because I was jealous.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “You? Jealous of _me_? Why would _you_ be jealous of me?”

Chuckling, I explained. “Because I’m on my way out, and you’re just starting. I mean, you have so much ahead of you. You haven’t done _anything_ yet. You haven’t had your heart broken, you haven’t come to class hung over, feeling like you were going to throw up the whole time. You haven’t forgotten the steps in the middle of a routine or gotten in a fight with your best friend. You have so much left to do.”

“Um…that stuff all sounds like it sucks,” she pointed out.

“No!” I insisted. “I mean, yes, some of it sucks. But there are also the parts where you fall in love, and have crazy nights out, and make a best friend. It’s gonna be awesome, I promise,” I told her, squeezing her shoulder.

Shrugging, Olivia offered, “I’ve gotten shouted at in the middle of the cafeteria, so I’ve had _some_ experiences.” When I winced, she added, “Just kidding. Anyway, I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. I mean, look at all you have to look forward to. You get to dance. Someone is going to _pay you_ to dance for the next ten years, here, or in Paris, or in Russia. I wish this was all over with and I had some security.”

I suddenly felt a wave of affection towards her. I’d been a total bitch, and she still wanted to make me feel better. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I sighed, “Olivia, I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”

*** 

And then, all of a sudden, dress rehearsal was over, and I was waiting in the wings for my spring shop piece. I knew that there were scouts from every major ballet company out there, waiting to judge me, and I didn’t care at all. If I didn’t get any offers at the end of today, it didn’t matter. All of those things that I’d told Olivia about were enough for me. If I didn’t get any offers, at least I would have had all of those amazing, unique, priceless experiences. Tomorrow, of course, I knew I might go into a full-blown panic attack, but for right now I was happy just to be dancing one more time.

The music started and the rest of the girls and I took our places on stage. I was with twenty other girls, but I felt like the only one there. I knew that there were hundreds of people in the audience, several of those in the royal box, but I didn’t feel anyone watching me. It was possible that this was the last day I’d ever get to dance, and I planned on making the most of it, which meant that I couldn’t worry about what the other girls were doing, or who was watching me. I was just going to dance my heart out, and hope that it was good enough for someone to notice, good enough for someone to want to give me a shot, the way Madam had, the way George, my old instructor back home had, the way Harry had.

All too soon, the dance was over, and everything that I’d spent the past three years (and the rest of my life before RBA) working towards hung in the balance. The only thing I could do now was wait. As Harry was so fond of repeating, I was going to have to take this one day at a time. Flowers were thrown onto stage and I took hands with the two girls next to me. Maybe one of those girls had taken a picture of me in my underwear. Maybe one of those girls had sold a story. But none of that mattered now. It was all over. My life as I had known it was over.

When I got back to the communal dressing room, I burst into tears along with the rest of the girls. Madam and Monsieur told us all that we had done beautifully and that they were so proud of us. I hugged girls that I had never spoken to because we were trying desperately to comfort each other. “You’ll get an offer, of course you will,” we assured one another.

“Roxanna,” Madam called out, gesturing for me to join her. “His Royal Highness wants to come down. I’ll give you the dressing room.” It wasn’t the first time Madam had offered up Victoria White’s dressing room to me. The first time she’d been frustrated and annoyed, but now she was almost nostalgic. When she closed the door behind her, I dabbed under my eyes, where my heavy makeup had started to run. There was a soft knock on the door and I told him to come in.

“Fox,” Harry said, wrapping me in a hug with one arm. In the other he was holding a bouquet of daffodils. 

I cried into his shirt for a minute before trying to pull myself together. “Do I look terrible? Like some sad drag queen?” I asked, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

Laughing, Harry assured me that I didn’t. “Come up and see Gran, she wants to talk to you,” he told me.

“I will when I take this make up off. I’d rather her see me not looking like a clown,” I gestured to my face full of stage make up.

“No, don’t. She wants a photo opp,” he told me.

“Harry! I can’t take a picture right now! I am literally wearing a costume,” I complained.

“Come on, it’ll only take a second,” he encouraged.

Rolling my eyes, I took his hand and we made our way up to the royal box. When Savannah Phillips ran to me, I picked her up and held her against my hip. “I like your tutu,” she told me, running her hands through the tulle.

“Why thank you.” 

“Can I have it?” she asked.

Her parents told her that I had to give it back to the ballet school, and she was obviously disappointed. I planted her back down on the ground so that I could shake hands with the Queen’s photographer. “Try not to make me look like a drag queen,” I begged him. He chuckled and promised me that he would try his best. 

“Roxy! You were so good!” Harry’s cousin, Beatrice, told me.

“Thanks. All the girls and I were having a little cry session in back,” I explained.

Harry’s older cousin, Zara, gave me a peck on both cheeks. “You’ll get offers,” she assured me. “Even I could tell you were good, and I don’t know anything about ballet.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. Then, turning to her husband, I apologized for him having to tag along to the ballet. He chuckled and said that I’d have to sit through one of his rugby matches in return, which I was all too happy to do.

“Roxanna, you were absolutely beautiful,” Harry’s father told me.

“Thank you,” I blushed under all of my make up. 

Camilla joined his side and gave me a once over. Only this time, it didn’t seem as mean as it usually was. “You know, Roxanna, all this time we had no idea how talented you were.”

I gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure you’ll get a job somewhere,” Prince Charles told me with a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

“All right, we’ve got to say hi to Gran,” Harry told his assorted family members, steering me over to his grandmother. When I curtsied to the Queen, the photographer snapped a picture. “Thank you for coming, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Roxanna! You were lovely,” she smiled at me. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Now, how does this all work, with the ballet companies?” she inquired.

With a sigh, I shrugged. “Now I basically just wait for the phone to ring,” I told her. “Hopefully, I’ll get offers from a few different companies so I can pick one that I like.”

“I’m sure you’ll get plenty of offers,” she assured me. “While you wait, you must come to Balmoral.”

With a quick glance at Harry, who smirked at me, I tried to come up with excuses. “That’s very nice of you, ma’am, but I’m not sure – “

“And what will you do instead? Wait around, hoping for someone to call? That will just make it worse. Come to Balmoral; take your mind off of things. Queen Victoria used to say that at Balmoral, all of your problems seem to disappear. Harry tells me you ride now,” she added, sounding impressed.

I looked from Harry back to the Queen, realizing that she wasn’t _really_ giving me an invitation. She was _telling_ me to be at Balmoral. With a nervous smile, I took her up on her offer, which was more of a command. “That would be nice. Thank you, ma’am.”


	101. Paradise in the Highlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After spring workshop, I needed a few days to decompress. While the royals headed off to Balmoral, I stayed behind, vegging out in front of the TV and feeling the tension slowly release from my muscles. Harry was home, school was over, spring shop had been danced. For the time being, everything was fine…except for the fact that my phone wasn’t ringing. Okay, it was a little early for offers this soon after the performance, but that didn’t stop me from occasionally chewing on my nails.

Olivia invited me to the first year spring workshop, and I took B with me. Afterwards, she and I went out to dinner and I grilled her about Piers. As soon as I said his name, a huge smile spread across her face. “ _That’s_ a good sign,” I giggled.

She sighed. “To be honest, I always thought you were being a drama queen about the whole relationship, being-in-love stuff, but I _totally_ get it now.”

“Thank you!” I laughed. “Why? What’s going on?”

Bianca shrugged. “It’s just…I mean, it’s great. He’s so sweet, and when we argue he always finda a way to make me laugh. But it’s like…well, it’s a bit like…”

“Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong?”

“Exactly!” Bianca confirmed. “I mean, it’s all just a _little_ too good to be true, isn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Um…what?” Before she could explain, I shook my head. “B, you’ve been through a _lot_. Especially in the past year.”

“But that’s just what I mean,” she pointed out. Then, looking around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening, she leaned forward, closer to me. “I’m _really_ fucked up, Roxy. Why would he want to get involved with that?”

I couldn’t hold in my laughter, even though it was extremely inappropriate. At Bianca’s horrified expression, I apologized. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s not funny, really. It’s just that two years ago we were having this exact conversation in reverse, and now I’m supposed to be your sound voice of reason? Bianca, my boyfriend is a recovering drug addict with severe mommy issues who may be developing a case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Believe me, you don’t want my advice.”

Bianca smirked. “That was actually quite helpful. Harry’s _way_ more fucked up than I am, and you still love him.”

My eyebrows rose and my mouth dropped open. “Love? Are you using the ‘L’ word?”

Blushing, Bianca admitted, “He said it two days ago.”

“What?! Oh my _God_! Bianca! What did you say?”

She winced. “I said…thank you?”

All of my excitement disappeared. “…What?”

“I sort of just froze up, and that’s what came out.”

“Why didn’t ‘I love you, too’ come out?” I demanded.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t _know_?”

“Yes! I mean, if I love him. I don’t know,” she explained. 

I gave her a flat glare. “You either do or you don’t, B. It’s not the kind of thing you can waffle on.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “Look, you remember what it was like!” This was also a reverse version of a conversation B and I had two years ago, shortly before Harry and I said “I love you” for the first time at his brother’s wedding reception. “Even if I _do_ feel that way, it’s just scary to say it back. And I’m _just_ a year out of recovery.”

“Harry wasn’t a year out of recovery before we got back together,” I pointed out.

Bianca scoffed. “Yeah, and look at your fucked up relationship.”

I threw my napkin at her, pretending to be offended.

***

After some much needed R &R, I headed over to Buckingham to take a helicopter to Scotland. It was kind of awkward, just two pilots and me, but they were nice enough, pointing things out as we passed over the entire span of England. “Can William fly one of these?” I asked of the pilot.

He nodded. “Does it all the time.”

Well, that was kind of cool.

Balmoral was called a paradise in the Highlands, and as we touched down, I knew why. Everything around was green and lush and alive, for miles. The only thing that wasn’t, was the huge castle that stuck out of the ground like Camelot. “Holy shit,” I breathed out, and then, embarrassed, I realized that everyone had heard it in the headset. 

“It’s something, isn’t it?” the pilot grinned.

Speechless, I nodded. Kensington and Buckingham were enormous, beautiful palaces, but they were in the city, among other great structures. Against the rolling hills in the Highlands, Balmoral looked like it was made by magic…like Hogwarts. Shaking my head, I blinked a couple of times to get that crazy thought out of my mind before I blurted it out to Her Majesty.

“Welcome to Balmoral, miss,” a man in a white jacket greeted me as I stepped out of the helicopter.

“Thank you,” I smiled at him.

He was telling another man in white to take my bag when a door on the helipad opened with a bang and my lovely boyfriend strode through, arms out. Not caring that other people were around (he never did), he gave me a huge kiss before bowing down low to me. “It is an honor to be in your presence, famous ballerina, Roxanna DeLaSearle.”

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I muttered, “Let’s not get our hopes up.”

Taking my hand, Harry reminded me, “It’s early days, yet. Try to relax. You’re in the Highlands now. Will and Kate can teach us how to reel.”

“Huh?” I asked.

Harry opened the door we’d come through, which led to a staircase and then down to a hallway, which was still very fancy, but clearly in the staff quarters of the castle. “Reeling,” he explained. “It’s Scottish dancing. Oh, and you’ve got to see Dad in a kilt, it’s brilliant.”

“Um…can I skip that one?” I asked.

Harry laughed. “It’s not up to you, I’m afraid. If he decides to wear one, he’ll wear one, and end up looking like a tit.”

“Harry,” I scolded as he led us through some narrow hallways to the other side of Balmoral. “Don’t call your father a tit. He’s the future monarch, for God’s sake.”

“So’s Wills, and I say way worse about him,” Harry shrugged.

Finally, we reached our destination. Harry was almost an entire foot taller than me, and when he was excited about something (usually because we were about to have sex), he walked super-fast, and I felt like I was a kite flying along on a string behind him. “Here, this is our room.”

“Our?” I raised an eyebrow. “Your grandparents are okay with this arrangement?”

“It was their idea! They hardly sleep in the same bedroom anywhere, but they do at Balmoral.”

“Why?”

Shrugging, Harry offered, “Not enough rooms,” with a wicked smirk.

Rolling my eyes, I looked around Harry’s Balmoral bedroom. It was pretty small, and not small for Harry – it was a small room. Just a bit bigger than my room back in Jersey. Not that I was being a diva about it, I was just surprised. “Yeah. You guys really rough it out here.”

***

I changed in Harry’s room into something better fit to meet with the Queen. That meant a dark green empire waist dress with long sleeves, tan hose, and my LK Bennetts. “Ah, brilliant. Roxy the Ballerina has joined us, Cabbage,” Prince Philip told the Queen as we joined everyone in the reception room.

“Hello Roxanna. I’m so pleased you decided to join us,” Her Majesty greeted me kindly. Curtsying, I thanked her for the invitation. “Have you heard from any companies yet?” she inquired.

I was about to answer, but Harry beat me to it. “No, but it’s still early.”

The Queen gave Harry a knowing smile. “As you can see, Harry’s just as anxious to hear from them as you are.”

“So am I!” Kate quipped up. Then, turning to the Queen, she asked, “Granny, can’t you call the Opera House and tell them to hire her?”

With a tiny laugh, the Queen told her, “I’ll consider it, Catherine.”

The conversation was going well, so of course Camilla had to come ruin it. “Now that you’re here, what will you do with your time? You _obviously_ won’t be joining the hunt tomorrow.”

Again, Harry answered for me. “Of course she will,” he threw one arm around my shoulders. “Won’t you, darling?”

“Um…”

“Don’t worry, Roxanna. I’ll teach you to shoot,” Prince Philip offered.

“He taught me, and I’m quite good.” She leaned closer to me and, in a whisper, added, “Better than William.”

From across the room where he was talking to his dad, William called out, “No, you’re not!”

Kate rolled her eyes and waved a hand. “Anyway, you should come.”

“You won’t kill anything on the first try, anyway,” Harry insisted.

Well, it _would_ be something to do, maybe take my mind off the phone calls I wasn’t getting. Not to mention that it would get Camilla off my back. Two birds, one stone. “Yeah, sure, I’ll give it a try. Why not?”

***

“Why not?” was a question someone should have answered, because there were several reasons why not. First, because going hunting involved a four AM wake up time. Groaning, I rolled to my other side and pulled the comforter back over my head. “Aren’t the animals out during normal times of the day?”

“Yes, but we’ve got to find them,” Harry told me, pulling on an olive-green sweater. “I’d say you wouldn’t have to come, but I’m looking forward to watching you try to shoot.”

With another groan, I got out of bed and tucked my grey jeans into my wellies, making sure I was wearing neutral tones. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and yawned. “Do we bring coffee on the shoot?” Harry laughed, even though I was 100% serious.

A four AM wake up, without coffee, and carrying a huge gun strapped to my back. I felt like I was off to fight the red coats with George Washington (which was ironic for obvious reasons). We took two Range Rovers in the beginning, but we didn’t want to scare off any prey, so we walked most of the way behind the dogs sniffing out animal scents. The hills were beautiful to look at, but slightly less awesome walking up and down them. “Why is this appealing?” I asked Kate through a yawn.

She chuckled. “You don’t like it? The walk, the fresh morning air?”

“Nothing I couldn’t enjoy four hours from now.”

“Just wait,” Prince Charles came up behind me. I shrank back, embarrassed that he’d heard me. “When you shoot something, it will be worth it.”

I didn’t tell Prince Charles that I had absolutely no intention of shooting anything. Instead, I kept behind the rest of the group. We stopped for a rest and Prince Philip showed me the proper way to hold the larger-than-necessary gun, and how to aim it. Not too surprisingly, this did not make me more enthusiastic about hunting, and we kept on.

After literally _hours_ of following the scent of something, the dogs led us to a pair of pheasants. Really? All that walking, for _this_? Two stupid birds? I tried to hold in my frustrated screaming as William raised his gun, aimed, and –

Like a truck horn, my cell phone started to ring. The two birds flew off, spooked from the noise. Slowly, the men all turned to me, their eyes the size of paper cuts. “Oh God. You’re going to shoot me, aren’t you?”

“Roxy!” Harry insisted. “Answer it!”

Before I reached into my pocket, I gulped and took a deep breath. This was when the rest of my life started. This was the call from Paris, or Moscow, or London, or…or my mom. “Ma! I’ll call you back!” I hissed, and then blushed the color of a beet as I turned my phone off. “Sorry.”

“They couldn’t have gone far,” William muttered determinedly, and we kept going. I was relieved when we found something bigger than pheasant. There was a deer, a four-pointer. Not huge or anything, but more worth our time than two stupid birds. Concentrating hard, William again raised his gun, aimed, and fired.

I watched the deer go down, right before I bent over and threw up.

***

“It was just…it was so helpless!” I stammered out. Harry had escorted me back to Balmoral after I’d hurled everywhere. He’d explained to his grandmother and Camilla what had happened.

“Roxanna, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Camilla asked.

Harry handed me a cup of tea and kissed my forehead. “It takes some getting used to.”

He wanted me to do that again? No way! I just pushed out a smile at him. “You should get back to it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, wary of leaving me alone with the Queen and Camilla.

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. You go ahead. Try not to kill anything cute.” Chuckling, Harry told me he’d try his best and left. Okay, maybe he’d been right to think leaving me with these two was a bad idea…

After an awkward pause, the Queen offered up, “Harry and Catherine have told me you’ve taken up some new hobbies?”

“Yes, ma’am. I started knitting, and drawing, and riding. Although I’m afraid I’m not great at any of them.”

“Now, now. I’m sure that’s not true. Sometimes you surprise yourself. Your favorite hobbies can become things you never thought you’d enjoy.”

“Well, isn’t dancing more of a hobby?” Camilla asked, innocently sipping her tea.

I ran my tongue over my teeth. “You don’t usually get paid for hobbies.”

“So you got an offer, then?”

_No, you bitch, I still haven’t gotten an offer!_

Before I could shout this at the top of my lungs, the Queen intervened. “During the war, I worked on cars, and I enjoyed it more than any other job I’ve ever had to do. Other than being a mother, of course.”

“Of course,” I nodded, beaming at her. I loved this look into her life.

“As a matter of fact,” she mumbled, more to herself, before picking up a phone next to her on a table by the couch. “Yes, can you bring me Mummy’s album? Thank you.” I didn’t know what was going on, but before I could ask, a man in a white coat came in, and, with a low bow to HM, he handed her a book. It was a completely surreal moment of my life as the Queen of England patted the space on the couch next to her. Somehow, my legs carried me there, even though I was certain I was in a foggy dream. Camilla gave me a disapproving expression before looking shocked when I blatantly rolled my eyes at her.

The Queen opened the photo album and pointed to a picture in a corner. “Mummy and Daddy sent us out of London because of the bombing, you understand.” Most children were evacuated from London during the German blitz. Princess Margaret and Princess Elizabeth had been sent away from Windsor, but their parents had stayed behind. After the mess of the abdication crisis, the popularity of the King and Queen Mother soared through the roof. For the rest of their lives, they were great symbols of patriotism, because they’d never had any intention of fleeing from the city while their people were threatened with nightly air raids. “But I told Mummy that I felt useless. Other girls my age were all volunteering with the nurses and the like. I couldn’t just sit by and watch the people, my people, suffer.” She pointed out a series of pictures of her along with the other girls sitting in class, peering under the hood of a car, and a pair of legs sticking out from under a vintage Range Rover. “So I signed up to be a mechanic.”

“Wow. I don’t think I could ever do that,” I admitted, shaking my head.

“Do what, dear?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Figure out a car. Or…any of it.” The Queen had been twelve-years-old when the abdication crisis had forced her into the spot of the future monarch. When I was twelve, I was twirling around in a pink tutu and hiding from my mean big sister. I could never have stepped up the way she had.

The Queen seemed to understand that I meant more than work on engines and she gave me a kind smile. “You think you can’t do these things, but then they just happen, and you keep moving through the days, and before you know it, you’ve done it. It is amazing, what a person can do, even when they are certain they cannot.”

I smiled and felt the goose bumps rise on my arms.

The Queen, ignorant of the fact that she’d just said one of the most inspiring things I’d ever heard, flipped through a few more pages before I let out an audible gasp. There was one picture of her, newly crowned, standing next to Winston Churchill. Her Majesty heard my gasp and sighed. “Oh yes. Winston.” He was the only PM she called by his first name. “You can never use just one word to describe him. He could be the most patient man one second, and then a spitfire the next. He was always very good to me, very protective.” Then, with a giggle, she revealed, “I called him Winston, and he called me Liz.”

I laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. Did he get along with your parents?”

Camilla coughed on her tea. She was right this time – I’d made a huge faux-pas. You were never supposed to ask her anything personal. Actually, I didn’t think I’d ever asked her anything at all. I was about to apologize, but the Queen started to answer me, to my surprise. “Hm. A complicated answer about a complicated man. Winston was…some may say a bit ahead of his time, an eccentric. Before the war, he was just another loud, bloviating man in Parliament. It wasn’t that Papa _didn’t_ like him. I think rather he knew what would come if Chamberlain left and Winston stepped in. He’d been very clear about what he thought the solution was to Hitler, you see, and no one wanted war.” She pointed to a picture of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth with the Prime Minister. “But he and Mama could have a good laugh together.”

She flipped a few more pages, and a colored photograph of a young, dashing, blonde Prince Philip. “Oh my _gosh_ ,” I pointed to it. “Look!” I could hardly get the word out for giggling. He looked like a movie star, like Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes or something.

The Queen sighed fondly. “Yes. That was when he was still in the Navy, when Papa was still alive. When I look back on my life, I think I find those years the most satisfying. Just the four of us, a cozy little family.” I kind of thought they weren’t your average white-picket-fence family, but it was nice to see her like this. “Look at this one, Roxanna,” she instructed, pointing to a photograph on the next page. “Our little Charlie. Look at his cheeks!” she laughed, and I had to agree that Prince Charles was a chubby baby. “And he got my curls, of course,” she pointed to his unruly brown hair. “Anne and Edward were blonde, like Philip, and I was so very happy to have a little girl.” She showed me some baby pictures of Princess Anne before flipping forward, stopping at a photograph of her in bed, holding a teeny Prince Edward, surrounded by the rest of her children.

Before I could stop myself, I had burst into tears. Horrified, I fanned my eyes, trying anything to dry my tears. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. The Queen did not like gross displays of emotion like this, and she looked as surprised as I felt. Camilla’s eyes were wide as well, and I felt my chest break out into splotches. Sniffling, I finally composed myself. “I’m sorry. These pictures are just so sweet, and…and I’m tired and stressed out from spring shop.”

The Queen gave me a kind smile. “Perhaps you had better go have a lie down, dear.”

“Right,” I nodded. “I apologize, ma’am,” I said once more before leaving the room. I had been dismissed.

*** 

Her Majesty may have been just trying to stop my emotional dramatics, but she was right; I needed sleep. When I woke up, it was to the feel of someone sitting on the bed and the scent of fresh, earthy soap. Harry shook me gently and I blinked my eyes open. He smiled down at me while I stretched and yawned. “I didn’t want to wake you up when I came back, so I jumped in the shower,” he explained why he was just wearing a towel before leaning down for a peck on the mouth. When he pulled away, he asked, “So…you cried?”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Did she tell everyone?” I didn’t mean the Queen. She never would have mentioned it again. Clearly, Camilla was the culprit.

Harry winced. “Most, yes.”

Sitting up in bed, I let out another groan. “ _Why_ was that necessary?”

“Why were you crying?” he asked.

Honestly, I shrugged and answered, “I don’t know.”

Narrowing his eyes at me, Harry told me, “Well, I’d make you tell me, but we have to get down to dinner.”

With a yawn, I threw off the covers and got out of bed to change for dinner.

Dinners with the Queen were like dinners at Downton Abbey. You had a drink first and visited, then “went through” to the dining room for dinner and dessert. Then, you went into the sitting room. This used to be the time when you smoked and drank more, but now you just had a nightcap and hung out, basically until you wanted to go to bed. It was an event that lasted for hours, but I didn’t mind…usually. Tonight, though, I was dying to run back to my room and check my phone. It was the fifth day after spring shop, which was almost a week, which was around the time offers should start coming in. I tried not to be too distracted by this as I made polite conversation with the Windsor-Mountbatten clan.

Harry, sensing that I was getting anxious to return to the room, excused us fairly early. When we got back, I let out an annoying whine. “There are still _no_ messages!”

Patting my back, Harry reminded me, “It hasn’t even been a week yet. _Relax_.”

“You relax!” I snapped.

The man had the patience of a saint, which he showed by chuckling and getting ready for bed. We were curled up together, both of us reading up against our pillows, the same way we did every night, when Harry kissed the top of my head. “Fox?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you tell me why you were crying now?”

“Harry, seriously, I don’t really know.”

“Then guess.”

With a frustrated sigh, I sat up and tried to put my finger on it. “I guess…I guess it’s because looking at those pictures made me realize…Dance has always come first in my life, and it’s the thing I’ve always loved the most, right now. The pictures made me realize that, for the first time in my life, there are things that I could love more than I love dancing, and there are things that I could want more than I want to be a dancer.” I took a deep breath. “Before we started talking about it, I never really thought about marriage. I know there are girls who have had their weddings planned since they were six, but I was never one of them. I always thought, you know, it was a nice idea, but I could take it or leave it – marriage and a family. I could be perfectly happy with a career I loved and close friends. But when I looked at those pictures, I knew that…that I wanted a family. And not just this vague idea of a couple of kids and a husband and a dog. Eventually, one day, down the road…” I felt myself chickening out and decided that I was just had to go for it. ”I want a family…with you.” At the end of my long-winded, thought-out-loud explanation, I gulped and blinked up at Harry. “I know all of that probably makes it seem like I’m some lunatic with baby-fever, but – “

Harry covered my mouth with a hand. “It doesn’t. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I want you to remember that feeling, Roxanna. Where ever you get an offer, where ever you go, whenever you’re feeling lonely and it gets hard, I want you to remember this feeling, right now.” I promised him that I would, and we stopped talking, stopped reading, and started kissing.


	102. An Offer I Can't Refuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The gang was _not_ continuing the hunt the next day, thank God. Instead, we went out riding, which wasn’t something I was great at, but I enjoyed it, and it didn’t involve killing anything. The horses at Balmoral were not the same horses that the boys played polo on. Apparently, polo horses were to be strictly used for polo and polo-related activities, probably because if they got hurt the boys had to shell out $50,000 for a new one, no exaggeration. The riding horses were still incredibly expensive, but I didn’t worry so much about breaking their backs when getting on them.

I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed riding. Something about the stables being all warm, that delicious hay smell mixed with the leather, made me feel relaxed and safe. If we cantered all over the place, the way the boys did during polo, I’m sure I would have been scared shitless, but trotting around the grounds of Balmoral on a sweet horse named Charlie, who preferred grazing to walking, I felt perfectly fine. Since I’d befriended the royals I’d become much more outdoorsy, and I was thankful for it because it took my mind off the phone calls I _still_ wasn’t getting.

When we got back to the palace, I headed off to shower before checking my phone. My heart sank and I shook my head at Harry. “They’ll call,” he insisted. “Just wait.”

But they didn’t call. Not that afternoon while we played cards with Harry’s father and step-mother, not that evening while we got dressed for dinner, not during happy hour, dinner, or the nightcap. And they definitely didn’t call while I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got into bed. 

“Try to relax, Fox,” Harry advised. “Worrying about it won’t make them call.”

“Oh, really? Okay, I’ll just relax then, simple as that.” I _did_ need to relax, but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t stop wriggling under the sheets. In an effort to try and calm myself enough to go to sleep, I opened a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. I was discovering how it could be both the best and worst of times when my phone rang. Gasping, I made a mad grab for it. My heart soared and then plummeted when I saw that it was just Bianca. Not that I wasn’t always happy to hear from my best friend, I’d just been hoping it might be, I don’t know, say, the San Francisco Ballet Company? “Oh. Hey B.”

“Roxy – remem – so I – and – “

“Huh?”

“Hell-? -Oxy?”

“Bianca? Can you hear me?”

“Breaking up – text – hear me? – Bye!”

Swearing under my breath, I hung up. From the bits and pieces of the conversation, I’d figured out that Bianca was going to text me. I held the phone in my hand, waiting for it to beep, letting me know I had a text. When it did, I opened it and read:

_I said it! Happy now?_

Immediately and without a reason (like I’d been doing a lot lately), I burst into tears. Shocked, Harry blinked at me twice before asking, “What on earth could have possibly happened over a static phone call and a text message?”

I’d never been a pretty crier, and now was no exception. There were heaving sobs, choked breaths, snotty sniffles. “Bianca – and Piers – are in love,” I got out.

“And that’s…a tragedy?” Harry asked cautiously.

Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to regain enough control of my body so that I could explain more to Harry. When I finally did, I shook my head. “No, it’s great, I’m happy for them. It’s just…everything’s changing.” Harry just gave me a sympathetic expression and allowed me to continue. “I’m out of school, Bianca’s in love, you want to get married. Everything’s changing. And I know I should be relieved and getting over it, and I am, but I’m still sad about school. I’m just… _finished_. I haven’t danced in days and…and what if I never do again?”

“Roxy, you’ll dance. You’ll get offers.”

I blinked up at him, tearfully. “What if I don’t?” Before he could give me another false assurance, I clamped a hand over his mouth. “I’m serious, Harry. I have to face the reality that I might not get any offers. What do I do then? I’ve never had a Plan B.”

Removing my hand from his mouth, Harry suggested, “So let’s make one. Right now, you and me. Let’s make your Plan B.”

“But…but…”

Harry placed his hands on my shoulders. “I _don’t_ think you’ll need it. In A.A. we always say to play the tape out. It makes you feel better, to play out the worst-case scenario – to realize that you can still have a life, that it won’t go spinning into a black hole.”

After a couple of blinks, and I’d brushed my hair off my face, I asked, “Okay, so…what?”

Laughing, Harry asked, “What do you mean, ‘What?’ It’s your Plan B. You tell me.”

I had to think about it for a while. “Well…I guess I could go back home. Go to a real college...but I really don’t want to do that.”

“Which? Go back home or go to university?”

“Both,” I answered.

Harry looked a little relieved that I turned down the opportunity to go back stateside. “Okay, let’s narrow the choices here. So assuming you don’t get an offer, you still want to dance. What about teaching?”

My ears pricked up. He might be onto something… “Teaching? Hm…I could teach.” And then, with a gasp, I offered up, “What if I opened my own school? Like George?” I referred to my former ballet instructor back home. “For little girls and older kids who are more serious like I was.”

“Sure,” Harry nodded. “We could rent you a place.”

Frowning, I realized there was a hole in my plan. “But it costs money to start a business.” 

“It does,” Harry agreed.

“Well…I don’t have any of that.”

Laughing, Harry assured me, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get investors. The banks will give you a loan based on the likelihood of your success. A smart bank will realize all of the business you’ll get based on your name alone.”

“Harry! I can’t use you to start a business!”

He grinned and tweaked my nose. “Well, then let’s just hope you get offers.”

***

After a week in the Highlands, I headed back home. Balmoral was amazing, but Harry and the Firm stayed there for seven weeks in the summertime. I loved the man, but I wasn’t going to be under the same roof as his step-mother for seven weeks, no matter how large that roof may be.

The helicopter touched back down in Buckingham, and instead of heading to the Surrey house first, I went out to lunch with B and Pippa. There were a lot of times when we stayed in, but we weren’t going to be prisoners in our own homes because of the press. Over the years, we’d gotten pretty good at picking out spots where we could be hidden, and where we knew they’d try their best to keep the paparazzi at bay. 

After Bianca had updated Pippa and I about what was going on with she and Piers (it sounded like it was getting surprisingly serious), she sighed and turned to me. “So, Rox, still no word from the companies?”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “But…I don’t know, Harry and I sort of came up with a Plan B.”

“What’s that?” Pippa asked, sipping her diet Coke.

I was explaining to them about the plan Harry and I had made – that I’d open my own ballet studio, use my ballet connections to try and get students into high-performing dance academies like RBA. Bianca and Pippa were encouraging me when my phone beeped in my purse. My hand shot in so that I could pull it out and frantically check the screen. I watched with wide eyes as my phone beeped…and beeped…and beeped, telling me that I had a plethora of missed calls and voicemails. 

“Roxy? What is it?” Bianca asked.

“I think…I think I got calls,” I waved my phone at them. 

“Oh my God!” Pippa gasped. “Well listen to them! What are you waiting for?”

Instinctively, I shook my head. “No way. I can’t. I have to go.” Throwing twenty quid down on the table, I kissed them both good-bye. “I’ll call you. Unless I jump off London Bridge.” There was no way that I was going to hear rejection voicemails in public.

“Let us know!” Bianca called after me.

My leg was shaking up and down and up and down and up and down during the whole train ride. Why didn’t I live closer? _Ugh!_

When I finally got to Surrey, I made a mad dash for the house, dragging my huge suitcase behind me. It was probably the best workout I’d ever had. By the time I was slamming the front door behind me, it hurt my chest to breathe and I’d worked up a sweat. My hair was flying away in crazy wisps. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, went back to our room, clutched Barry to my chest, and called my voicemail.

“Good afternoon, Miss DeLaSearle. This is Sylvia Jones calling on behalf of the New York City Ballet. A few of our scouts saw you perform for the Royal Ballet Academy workshop, and we would like to offer you a spot in our company. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.”

“Allo Roxanna. This is Viola LeDeux, I am calling on be’alf of ze Paris Opera ‘Ouse. We would like to offer you a position within our company for ze upcoming season. Congratulations on your completion of the Royal Ballet Academy. Please call us back as soon as possible. _Merci._ ”

“Good day, Miss DeLaSearle. This is Soo-Yun Yi calling from the Tokyo Ballet Company. We would like to offer you a spot with our company. Call back, our offices are open from 7am until 9pm our time. Thank you.”

“ _Previet_ , Miz DeLaZearle. This is Svetlana Michelski from the Kirov Ballet. Ve vould like to hire you for our new season. Please call uz back with your answer.”

“Hey Roxy! This is Stacey Grey from San Francisco Ballet! You were great at your workshop, and we were so impressed that we want to offer you a spot with SFB! So give us a call back when you get a chance. Thanks! Have a _great_ day!”

“ _Hola_ Miss DeLaSearle! This is Ernesto Gonzales calling you from sunny Habana! We would love to offer you a spot with our company. As an American it would be a wonderful opportunity for you to experience our beautiful country! Call us back with any questions. _Gracias!_ ”

“Hello Roxanna. This is Monsieur Reims.”

I sucked in a breath so sharp, it hurt my ribs. Barry shook in my hands from how hard I was squeezing him. My throat closed up and my palms were drenched in a fraction of a second. I could barely hold the phone.

“Madam and I have spent a lot of time over the past week discussing your career, and the Royal Ballet Academy would officially like to make you an offer – “

I didn’t listen to the rest of the message. Chucking the phone across the room, I leapt off my bed, feeling like if I jumped, I would surely go flying. At first, I just let out a loud scream that, if the neighbors heard, would certainly cause them to call the police. “I GOT IN!” I finally shouted. “I’M IN! I GOT OFFERS! I’M A PROFESSIONAL BALLERINA!” And then, just because I could, I ran through the entire house, screaming that sentence over and over and over again.


	103. The Trick Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

“Cheers!”

Bianca, Piers, Pippa, Carole, Marcus, Olivia, and I all clinked our glasses together. Yes, I’d even invited Olivia to the little party. I was in such a good mood that I wanted as many people to see it as possible. 

“How does it feel?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Like I could fly to the moon and back,” I beamed at her.

“I’m so proud of you darling. Congratulations,” Carole said again, kissing me on the cheek. I’d called my mom, who had cried upon hearing the news, but since she wasn’t here, Carole was going to be the support I needed, the proud mother I wanted. My mom was insanely proud, and I knew that, she just couldn’t be there physically to celebrate. Besides, Carole stepped up to the plate and was a very well-practiced understudy. 

“Thanks!” I giggled.

Impatiently, Marcus nudged me. “So! Where are you thinking?” He’d already committed to Moscow, and was trying to encourage me to do the same.

Jumping up and down a couple of times just to get out my buzzing energy, I shook my head. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

Marcus threw his arms around me again, jumping up and down with me.

“You two had better stop jumping around,” Bianca warned, slipping her arms around Piers’s waist. “You wouldn’t want to get injured before you even get started.”

“Excuse me, Miss DeLaSearle,” the waitress at the fancy restaurant timidly asked from behind my seat. When I’d called Carole with the news, she’d insisted on taking me and all of my friends out for a celebratory dinner. I hadn’t even put up a fight like I usually did. No, this time I didn’t mind everyone being happy for me. This time I didn’t mind being the center of attention. When I looked back at the waitress, I realized that she was holding a cake in the shape of the Sugar Plum Fairy. On her tutu in white piping the icing spelled out, “Congratulations Roxy the Ballerina!”

“Oh my God! Where did this come from?” I asked, certain that the restaurant didn’t just happen to make ballerina-shaped cakes. 

“Konditor & Cook, the best bakery in London,” Piers spoke up. 

I’d heard of it before - The Rolling Stones and Madonna were regulars. “Oh my God,” I repeated, and then pointed to the cake. “Piers! Did you do this?”

He shrugged, like delivering me the best cake in Britain was no big deal. “I had to do something for my girl’s best mate,” he responded, wrapping an around Bianca’s shoulders and kissing her temple. “And my best mate’s girl.”

Bianca giggled and beamed up at him, almost as big of a smile as me. “I like that. It sounds so cute.”

“Hello! Back to me!” I reminded them, clapping my hands in their faces.

The happy couple laughed and the waitress brought out a knife for us to cut the cake. Before I did, however, I read the icing one more time. The first time Harry and I had met, he’d kissed me on the back of the hand and said, “It was lovely to meet you, Roxy the Ballerina.” There were dozens of times in the past year that I’d felt so happy that I couldn’t express it in any other way than to burst into tears, but I was even happier than that at the moment. I had dancing, and I had Harry, and I was literally having my cake, and eating it, too. 

***

Olivia, Marcus, and Carole all left slowly, one at a time. Eventually, Piers told Bianca he had to be up early tomorrow for something. She assured him she’d call him when she got back to the apartment before they kissed and murmured, “I love you,” to one another. When Piers was gone, Pippa and I started giggling (even more obnoxious than usual from so much champagne) and chorused, “Bianca and Piers sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “I thought this was a Roxy night.”

“Aren’t they _all_ Roxy nights?” Pippa asked.

“Har har, very funny,” I laughed sarcastically.

“So, what _are_ you going to do?” Pippa inquired.

Shrugging again, I answered, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“I guess first thing you have to talk to Harry,” Bianca offered up.

This plan didn’t sit well with me for some reason. “What? Why would I talk to him about it?”

Bianca and Pippa looked at each other cautiously before looking back at me. “Well,” Pippa delicately started, “this is a decision you should be making together, isn’t it?”

“No way! This isn’t his decision at all! I’ve been working on this my _entire life_ , and I’ll damn well go where I please, thank you very much.” But the truth was that I hadn’t even called Harry to let him know I’d gotten offers. I didn’t want him to ask me to accept the RBC offer, because I knew that if he asked me to, I would stay, and maybe that wasn’t what was best for my career, or for us.

After Pippa and Bianca backed off from the notion that I should talk to Harry, we had more champagne. So much, that I didn’t want to go all the way back to Surrey, so I spent the night in my old room at Bianca’s apartment. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do professionally, but what I wanted to do personally was to call Harry. I missed him.

“Hello you. Enjoying being back in civilization?” he asked.

“’Joying it!” I drunkenly confirmed.

Chuckling, Harry noted, “It sounds like you’re enjoying it a little too much.”

“No way! Don’t judge me like a…like a judgey…man,” I finished lamely, and then cracked myself up.

“Did you go out with the girls tonight?” he asked. 

I told him all about my night (with the exception of why we were celebrating) before it occurred to me that I wanted to tell him the news in person. Whatever happened, I wanted him to hug me and murmur, “I’m so proud of you, my darling girl,” into my ear. “Anyways, I think I need to come back to Balmoral.”

“Because you had such good fun last time?”

“’Xactly!”

“Why don’t you sleep this off and tell me how you feel in the morning?”

“Harry!” I whined. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I do, my darling.” My heart warmed and I was instantly sober. I didn’t need to sleep it off - I was going back, and I was going to tell Harry in person, and he was going to tell me that he was proud of me, and call me his darling girl.

***

“Hey drunkie. How do you feel?” Bianca asked as I staggered downstairs the next morning.

“Hung over, yet still surprisingly upbeat. Brunch?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” she smiled at me, and I knew she was remembering the good old days when we lived together and would go out for brunch every Sunday morning.

I ordered a full English breakfast and tucked in, while Bianca stuck to her usual oatmeal with blueberries. It felt good to watch her eat, knowing that she wasn’t hating herself, and that she wouldn’t make a mad dash for the bathroom afterwards. Kate had been right about the huge weight lifting once I was done with school. Everything was good and right in the world. My boyfriend was home safe, over a year sober. My best friend was nearly fully recovered, and in the healthiest relationship of her life. My two other best friends were my roommates. Yet another closest friend of mine and her mother, my surrogate mother in London, were willing to drop everything and celebrate my good news with me. Oh yeah, and I had my choice of dancing my way all over the world.

“I think I’ve got it,” I mentioned suddenly.

“Where you’re going to go?” Bianca asked.

Nodding, I said, “Mhm. I think…I think I’m going to tell Harry everywhere I got in. Now, if he asks me to stay at RBC, I think I shouldn’t, because then I’ll never know if I stayed because I wanted to or if I stayed for him. _But_ , if he tells me that I should go where ever I want, and that it’s my choice, then I’ll stay, because I really want to, and that way I’ll know I’m doing it for me, and not for him. I’ll know that our relationship is strong enough to handle anything.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow before slowly asking, “So, you’re tricking him?”

“Not a _trick_ , exactly. More like…a test,” I corrected her.

“It sounds like a trick.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“Yes.” There was a five second pause before I admitted, “Okay, it’s a little bit of a trick.”

***

The second time I touched down in Scotland was just as pleasantly surprising as the first time. Again, I was breathtaken by the beautiful backdrop of the estate and the castle itself...although, I was in such a good mood at the moment that I could have been looking at some dog droppings and found them beautiful. I wasn’t the only one who was just as enthusiastic this time around – Harry greeted me in exactly the same manner he had the first time I’d arrived. When he opened his arms this time, however, I jumped into them. He laughed with a surprised, “Oof! You’re quite happy today aren’t you?”

“You have _no_ idea! I have so much to tell you!”

“Really?” he asked, interested. “Like what?”

“Not yet! Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you,” I promised.

Harry took my hand and urgently led me through Balmoral, impatient to hear my news. We hadn’t gotten very far, however, when he nearly ran into his father. “Harry! Slow down! Where are you off to, like a maniac?”

“Sorry Papa,” Harry apologized. 

Prince Charles looked behind Harry at me. “Oh hello there Roxanna. Lovely to have you back at Balmoral. Will you give hunting another try?”

“Sure!”

“That’s the spirit!” Prince Charles encouraged.

“Hunting again? Wow, you really are in a good mood,” Harry noted. “Come on then, let’s hear it.” With that, he started off towards a room where we could have some privacy.

Over my shoulder, I called, “See ya later, Charles!”

Harry’s father gave me a kind smile, obviously pleased that I’d started using his first name. From in front of me, I could see Harry shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Haz! Where are you going?” William called out from the sitting room as we dashed past.

“Library!” he called back.

“Hi Rox!” Kate waved to me.

“Hi Kate! Hi Wills! I have to tell you guys something!”

Before I could, however, Harry had pulled me on, and Will and Kate disappeared around a corner.

Finally, we reached the library. Harry shut the door behind him and breathlessly asked, “What is it?”

“Well,” I started, and then paused for dramatic effect. It worked. Harry sat down on one of the plush, antique couches, literally on the edge of his seat. “I got offers.”

Immediately, Harry was back off the couch and wrapping me up in a hug. As I’d predicted, he exclaimed, “You did! Oh, I’m so proud of you my darling girl!” holding my face in his hands. “I knew you’d get them!”

“I don’t get any cell service here so I didn’t get them until I got back to London. There were a dozen messages,” I explained.

“Where from?” Harry asked, sitting back down on the couch and pulling me onto his lap.

“Moscow, Tokyo, New York, San Francisco, Paris, Havana, interestingly enough,” I rattled off before grinning, “ _and_ the RBC.”

At the last company, the corners of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smile, just for a second. He forced himself back into a poker face before taking a deep breath. “Well…where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Where do you think I should go?”

I held my breath and waited, but not for long. Almost immediately, Harry shook his head. “Where do _I_ think? Who cares where I think? You would love Paris. Russia would turn you completely upside down. Of course, if you wanted to go back home you could go to New York. But the choice is entirely up to you, my love,” he encouraged, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind my ear.

Unable to stop myself, I pressed my lips up to his. “That was exactly what I was hoping you’d say,” I admitted, our foreheads still pressed together.

“Why?” he asked, bemused.

“I kind of made a deal with myself, when I heard my offers.” Harry waited for me to explain. “I thought if you asked me to stay, then that would mean that I would have to go, because then I would be staying for you. But if you asked me to go, or said it was my choice, then that would mean that you knew that we were strong enough to handle it, and I’d have no reason to go.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if I go to Paris or to Tokyo or to Havana, I know that you and I are strong enough to handle that. We can handle deployments, drug addictions, eating disorders, break ups. So I _could_ choose Paris or Tokyo or Havana, if I wanted to. But I think…I choose RBC.”

Harry allowed himself another fleeting grin before he shook his head. “No, Roxy, you can’t stay for me.”

“Hello! Weren’t you listening to what I just said? I’m not doing it for you!” Seeing that Harry was still unconvinced, I went on. “It took me eighteen years to find a place where I felt at home. I’m not going to leave it now.” Harry still looked completely dazed. “Did you hear me, you big dummy? I’m staying! Here! With you!”

Finally, Harry pulled me close to him, and with a cry of joy we tumbled off the couch and onto the floor. I let out a loud laugh while he kissed me all over my face. “Oh, Roxy, you’ve made me so happy my darling!”

“I can tell,” I beamed up at him. We both just stayed still for a moment, soaking in the seriousness of what we’d just decided. Feeling like my heart was going to burst out of my chest, I softly asked, “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” He looked lost, so I reached up and traced his mouth with my fingertips. “I’m staying here with you. Forever. And all of those things that we talked about, we’re going to do them.”

Harry searched my eyes to make sure I was certain. “You’ll marry me?” he finally breathed out. With a dramatic flip of my heart, I nodded and he pressed his mouth to mine. 

After a minute, I pressed lightly on his chest. “Harry, we can’t have sex in the library at Balmoral,” I giggled.

“It would be a first,” he acknowledged. He stood, brushed himself off, and lowered his hand to me. I took it and he pulled me up before sweeping me into his arms, like we had just gotten married. I was screeching with laughter and begging him to put me down as we headed down the hallway to his room. Before we got there, however, we were met by Harry’s dad and brother, who were both wearing grim expressions. Sensing their mood, Harry placed me back on my feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

Prince Charles looked to William, who delivered the blow. “The press have found out.”


	104. The Past in the Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to more suit the story.

We didn’t need him to explain what they’d found out about – we all knew. I reached out for Harry’s hand and glanced up at him. Even his freckles had turned white. He gulped. “What do we do?”

“Come with us,” Prince Charles instructed. Harry and I followed the heirs down the long hallway and into the sitting room, where Kate was waiting. 

“I got your text. What is it?” she asked William. Then, seeing all of our faces, she asked, “Oh God. What’s wrong?”

“The press have found out,” Harry repeated his brothers words in a strangled choke.

Kate lifted her hand to her mouth and sat down slowly on the velvet armchair. “Oh my God. But…but how? We were so careful.”

“Harry’s absence during the deployment got people wondering about the last time he’d been out of the public eye. Fleet Street investigated, and apparently they got a picture of Dr. Rosenblum out with one of Harry’s RPOs. They put it together from there,” Prince Charles explained. “The good news is that Katie Nichol and some others have called us and told us they have the story, and they’re going public with it. We have a little time to release it on our own.”

“Release it on our own?” Harry asked, shocked. “Call the PCC, tell them we’ll sue. Those are my medical records, they’re confidential!”

“They’re not publishing the medical records, they’re publishing the fact that Dr. Rosenblum has been treating you, and that he’s a rehabilitation counselor,” William pointed out. “There’s no violation there.”

“Why does he have to say anything? There’s no reason to believe this more than any other rumor they’ve started about us,” Kate appealed to William. 

“There is,” William countered, “because this one is true.”

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, punching one of the fancily-papered walls of Balmoral. It must have hurt but he didn't even wince. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Harry, calm down,” his father advised. 

“How the fuck can I be calm?” Harry kept raging. “Everyone in the world is about to find out what a huge fuck up I am!”

“Hey,” I tried to reach out to him, but he yanked out of my grasp. “Harry, seriously, you need to take deep breaths. Do you want me to call Dr. R?”

“Yes, let’s,” Kate insisted before Harry could answer.

“Dr. R can’t help with this,” Harry snapped. “He can’t build a fucking time machine and put me in it and send me back to before I became a fucking junkie.”

“Harry, you need to calm down,” William repeated his father’s request. 

I wasn’t sure what made a difference this time, but Harry took William’s advice and sat down on the couch. His hands shook between his knees. I sat down next to him and rubbed my palm in wide circles on his back. “I needed more time,” he mumbled, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself. “I just needed more time.”

I understood his sentiment, but the truth was that he didn’t have any more time. “I know, my love. But you don’t have any. So…let’s take a couple of deep breaths, do your meditations like Dr. Rosenblum showed you, and figure out what to do.”

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes. He breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth a couple of times. Eventually, his copper eyelashes fluttered open and he looked at all of us. “First thing, we have to tell Gran.”

“Of course,” Charles agreed.

“Dad, I want you to call Tom Bradby and have him come to your apartment to do an interview. It can run tonight if we do it quickly.”

Charles nodded and left the room to start making phone calls. 

William spoke up, “What do you want us to do, Haz?”

Harry had to think about this for a minute before he looked at me, his brother, and Kate. “I just need you to tell Gran with me.”

Will and Kate shared a mind-reading look before Kate nodded. “Are you sure that isn’t something you’d rather do yourself, Harry?” she asked gently.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded.

“Well in that case,” William offered up, “no time like the present.”

Harry gave his older brother a desperate look. “Isn’t there?” With a groan, he got off the couch and we went to find the Queen.

We found her in the sitting room, and I was glad that she was alone and not with Prince Philip. Having to tell her was going to be rough enough. I wasn’t sure Harry would want to tell his granddad at the same time. Prince Philip wasn’t a big believer in being in touch with one’s feelings. According to Prince Philip, going for a run and ending your complaining better solved problems like addictions or broken hearts.

“Oh hello. I wasn’t expecting all of you young people at once. It’s a refreshing sight,” she smiled kindly at us.

Harry winced. “I’m afraid it’s bad news this time, Gran.”

She frowned, her brows furrowing, and tilted her head to the side. “Well whatever is it, dear? It can’t possibly be as bad as all that.”

Reaching out, I took Harry’s hand, lacing my fingers through his. When I gave his hand a squeeze, he took a deep breath. “For the past year, the four of us, as well as my father, have all been hiding the fact that in July of 2011, I overdosed on heroin, nearly died, and have been focusing on rehabilitation ever since.”

The Queen was not one to be struck speechless, and now was no exception. “What do you mean, Harry?” she asked. Her calm demeanor amazed me.

Harry took another deep breath and explained everything to his grandmother – how he’d always been experimenting with drugs; how it got worse as he got older and when Will and Kate got engaged; how he had always felt useless and depressed without knowing it; how he’d been hanging on by a thread, and after we broke up he tumbled slowly into even deeper addiction. He told her of the night he overdosed; of destroying his room; of attacking Catherine. He told her about our failed intervention; and how I’d found him writhing in pain in his bed; and how, finally, he had agreed to get help. 

The Queen merely raised an eyebrow and, in a clipped tone, asked, “And the five of you have been keeping this a secret for over a year?”

Gulping, Harry nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ve chosen to tell me now out of a sudden desire to be honest?” she suspected correctly.

“Not exactly,” Harry muttered. “We’ve gotten a call from a reporter, and several publications are running the story tomorrow. So we thought it would be best if I announced it tonight in an interview. And…I wanted to tell you first. Obviously.”

“Harry, if there is any part of this situation that you think is obvious, than you are mistaken,” the Queen told him. Then, taking a deep breath, she gave Harry a look so stern I had never been more afraid. It was more than that, though. I wasn’t just afraid of her reaction. I was ashamed. I was ashamed that we had all been lying to her for so long. She was an incredible woman, and she didn’t deserve the lies. At the time, I had justified our secret – it was necessary to keep it from as many people as possible, so as to keep it from the press. To keep it from his own grandmother now seemed especially unfair. Her Majesty rose from the couch. “You have all disappointed me in every way a person can be disappointed. Henry has let me down, perhaps more than any other member of this family, by allowing himself to fall victim to the disease of addiction. And the three of you,” she said, pointedly looking at all of us, “have been hiding the secret from me. You have betrayed me by withholding the truth, and I won’t soon forget it.”

My bottom lip was trembling. I knew the tears were about to spill over. The worst part was that she wasn’t shouting, and I _really_ wanted her to. I wanted her to explode and yell and tell us that our behavior was completely unacceptable. Instead, she was calmly explaining to us how she felt, and it was not pleasant. I wanted her to be angry, but, like any good mother, it was her disappointment that shone through.

I was afraid that I would lose it completely when she spoke up again. “That being said,” she continued, and I sucked in a breath. “The disease of addiction is one of the hardest things a person can overcome. I deeply regret that you didn’t think you could share your struggle with me. It’s true that I have never been so disappointed. But I have also never been so proud of you,” she gently told Harry, placing her gloved palm against his cheek. 

In a strangled voice, Harry choked out, “Thank you, Gran.”

The Queen gave him a kind smile before sitting back down on the couch. “If you’ll give Harry and I a moment alone,” she requested. William, Kate, and I started walking awkwardly backwards to the door (because you weren’t supposed to turn your back on Her Majesty), but before we reached it she added, “Oh, and you, Roxanna.” The blood drained out of my face, I could feel it drop like mercury in a thermometer. “I’ll talk with the Cambridges at a later date. We are not done this conversation, William,” she warned him.

With a look that told me they wished me luck, Will and Kate left the room. I rejoined Harry in front of his grandmother. She gave another weary sigh. “Am I to understand, Roxanna, that, even though you and Harry were no longer seeing each other, and even though he had tried to force himself on you,” she shuttered, “that you came running to him in the middle of the night?”

Nodding, I answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“And it was your idea to call this Dr. Rosenblum?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you were the one who finally got Harry to accept help?”

“Well, it was all of us, really.”

“Yes, but it would not have happened without you. Is this correct?”

“No, ma’am. It wouldn’t have happened without Harry.”

The corners of her mouth slowly lifted into a smile. What could she possibly be smiling about in a time like this? “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Confused, I looked to Harry, who shrugged, and then back at his grandmother. “Roxanna, you remember, of course, when we were looking through the photo album, and you said that you weren’t sure you could ever find the courage or strength to learn a new skill, or do what you had to do in order to pull through.”

“I remember, ma’am.”

“Well, I hope the next time you think that, you remember this moment, and all of those moments when you were desperately trying to help someone who didn’t want it.”

Harry reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. I blinked back my tears, willing my eyes to be dry. 

“And I hope you both know, that, when the time comes, and Harry has a question to ask me, I whole-heartedly give my consent.”

The Queen had to approve of certain royal marriages, up to a point in the succession, and she was telling Harry and I that we didn’t even have to run it past her – she was already on board. “Thank you, ma’am,” I beamed at her.

Harry leaned down and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Gran.”

When he pulled away, we were walking to the door and his grandmother added one more thing. “Don’t disappoint me like this again, Harry.”

Solemnly, Harry vowed, “I won’t,” and I knew he meant it.

***

The interview was set up with surprising speed. The five of us took a helicopter back to Kensington, and by the time we got there, the man who was going to conduct the interview was already there. Tom Bradby was a friend of Will and Kate’s who had done their engagement announcement, so the royals trusted him. As a member of the press, he already knew what the interview was going to be about, so he had a list of questions all lined up. He also knew exactly how far he could probe and how far he couldn’t, although there wasn’t a lot that was going to be kept secret at this point. Harry didn’t want Guy mentioned, and he wanted to keep out the bits about him getting physical with Kate, but Tom didn’t know those specifics anyway, so that wasn’t really a problem.

Harry would be sitting for the interview in a charcoal grey suit with a light blue tie, in what I thought was an attempt to bring out his eyes and make him look honest. Tom also suggested some make up be put on him, because he looked about as pale as a ghost on _Scooby-Doo_. He was just a solid wall of white, and his nerves made my own stomach clench. “We’ll be watching from just behind the camera,” his father assured him. It reminded me of a photocall I’d watched when the boys were little, with their parents. Charles had tried to make a crawling Harry laugh.

All of a sudden a thought hit me and I felt it like a punch in the gut. Someday, our children would be crawling around a nursery, and we’d have to explain to them that cameras were just a part of life, and they would never go away. Our little red-haired boy and our little black-haired girl might be the ones sitting on this sofa, giving an interview about their deepest, darkest secrets. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking, Prince Charles gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll figure it all out on your own,” he assured me.

Harry sighed and got off the couch. “Just a moment,” he held a finger up to Tom and pulled me away from the others. “Should I be doing this? Honestly, should I?” he asked, his eyes searching mine to see if I was telling the truth.

“Yes,” I nodded. “If you do it this way, you might help someone else.”

Nodding, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a nervous gesture. He looked around the room some more before his eyes settled on me. “You love me? No matter what?”

Taking his face in my hands, I assured him, “I love you with _everything_.”

Satisfied with these reassurances, Harry nodded before clearing his throat. “Right then. Let’s get on with it.”


	105. And Out Of All These Things I've Done, I Think I Love You Better Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This second half of this chapter is set to the song "Lego House" by Ed Sheeran
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry sat down on the couch in the apartment. His nerves vibrated within the room. He kept brushing down the front of his grey suit, is normally Caribbean-blue eyes had changed to the color of slate, he kept licking his lips. I was anxiously tapping my foot behind the camera, but he looked so nervous that I had to reach out and give his hand a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. 

“Okay, are we ready to go?” Tom asked him. Harry nodded, still looking like a scared little kid, and the camera turned on. He started with some easy questions. How was living with Will and Kate? How was his tour in Afghanistan? After some of this fluff, Tom drew in a deep breath and finally stated, “So I guess we should discuss why we’re here today.”

Harry looked behind Tom at his father, who nodded. I gulped. Harry cleared his throat. “I’m here today because I wanted to come forward and admit for the first time to the public that, for over a year now, I’ve been in recovery…” he cleared his throat again. “I’m a recovering addict.” Harry cleared his throat a third time. He licked his lips again. “And I know that I’ve let myself down, I’ve let my family down, and I’ve let Britain down. But I want to come forward with it now to hopefully give someone else the strength and the courage to admit that they have a problem and seek help.”

Slowly, calmly, Tom asked, “Now, when you say addict, you were addicted to what?”

Shifting in his seat, Harry cleared his throat, licked his lips, brushed down the front of his suit. “Drugs and alcohol.”

“What sorts of drugs?”

Harry finally gave him a wry, crooked smile. “All sorts of drugs. It started with marijuana, then turned into pills, and then I finally just started snorting cocaine and shooting heroin.”

“How old were you when you first started doing drugs?”

Thinking back, Harry answered, “Well, I started experimenting with drugs and alcohol at a very young age. I think some of that was probably documented in the press,” he added with that trademark Diana smirk. “And then I would sort of go through these periods of time where I’d a bit normal, when I was with the army or something, and I’d think I wasn’t an addict because I didn’t need those things, I didn’t need drugs or alcohol, but a couple of weeks or days would go by and I’d start again and think it was okay. Which, of course, it wasn’t.”

“When do you think you became addicted? When do you think you made the leap from a teenager experimenting to being an addict?”

This was an answer I was actually interested to hear. My ears pricked up and I held my breath, hoping that Harry wouldn’t say it was after a bitch (me) broke his heart. Harry obviously put quite a bit of thought into it before answering. “That’s hard to say. Probably after I graduated Sandhurst. I wanted to be deployed overseas, and for a bit it was back and forth as to whether they’d let me, and it looked like they might for a while so when they told me I wasn’t going, I got quite depressed. I think I sort of felt lost and useless, like I had no purpose, and I tried to kill those feelings with drugs and alcohol.” To my horror, I let out a relieved breath. Clearly it wan’t a good thing that he’d been self-medicating and become an addict, but that was way before I was in the picture, so at least a little bit of my guilt was assuaged.

“How were the drugs and alcohol impacting your life?”

“For a while, they weren’t. I kept things hidden and did a pretty good job at not letting on that I had a problem. I think I had this reputation that sort of saved me because when I’d go out and get messy no one thought it was strange, because that was just the way I was. But I was destroying my relationships with everyone in my life, and I don’t mean just my romantic relationship at the time. My relationship with my brother, with Catherine, my father, they were all just getting awkward and strained and nasty. I had all of these things in my life that I was keeping it together for – my brother’s wedding, my relationship. So when those things were over, I thought, ‘All right, well I’m just going to fall down the rabbit hole.’ And I did.”

Tom nodded, understanding, playing the parts of the interviewer and the therapist. “Is that what caused the abuse?”

_Excuse me?_ I wanted to blurt out. Was he implying that our break up was the cause of Harry’s drug abuse?

Harry shook his head. “No, no. Addiction isn’t the sort of thing where you can say, ‘It was caused by this one thing or that one thing.’ It can be caused for a number of reasons, and I think that mine was probably caused by…I think that I was trying to self-medicate to feel better about a lot of personal things.”

I listened as Harry went over the past - his addiction, hitting his lowest point, Dr. R coming over, our failed intervention. It made my chest ache to remember it all. 

“That all sounds extremely difficult,” Tom sympathized. “So you’ve said that your relationships were suffering. How have they improved since you’ve gotten clean and been in recovery?”

“Well, first of all Tom I want to make very clear that you’re never cured of the disease of addiction. You can be clean and you can not relapse and you can have X number of months or years of sobriety, but you’re never _not_ an addict. I think a lot of people, myself included, sort of have this image in their minds that they’ll go through rehab and everything will be fixed, and that’s not true. That’s not _ever_ true for anybody,” Harry chuckled. It was almost exactly what Dr. R had told William, Kate, and I when we’d first brought him over to try and help Harry. “I promise you that. It takes a lot of time, and I’m sure if you asked my brother, or my family, our relationship still isn’t back to what it was. It takes time, there will still be this element of distrust and suspicion, and that will last for a long time. Hopefully, slowly, we can get back to a healthy, good place, and things are a lot better but they’re not ever going to be like they were.”

I thought the interview was going pretty well, all things considered. Charles was watching tensely, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t fun for anyone, but it definitely could have been worse. I was just starting to feel a little confident that this could actually work out in our favor when Tom asked, “If your mother were here, what do you think she’d have to say about your abuse?”

Okay. Well that was a curveball.

Harry stared blankly at Tom, and then down at his hands, wringing them in his lap. Finally, in a scratchy mumble, he got out, “I think…I think she’d be incredibly disappointed.” I looked at Charles out of the corner of my eye. He looked to be in actual, physical pain. What could have been worse than watching your child go through something like that? _Death_ , I thought. _He could be dead._ Which, two years ago, had been a very real possibility.

Harry cleared his throat. ”But…I also think that she would have tried to help me in any way that she could. I think that she would have been there for me. And I think she’d be really proud of how I’ve recovered.”

I was sure that these things were true. This had been the reaction of everyone in Harry’s life, and given that his mother had been such a warm, loving person, I was positive that she would have encouraged him to seek help, and been there to support him through all twelve steps. But, even though I heard the words coming out of Harry’s mouth, I wasn’t sure he believed them. 

I bit down on my bottom lip as Tom continued his questioning. “How do you think this impacted your relationship with your girlfriend, Roxanna DeLaSearle? It seems like she’s stuck by you through a lot, a deployment, a drug addiction. How was that relationship affected by your addiction?”

Harry seemed surprised as he looked behind Tom at me. He quickly recovered. “Well I’m not going to talk about my relationship with my girlfriend. To be honest I don’t know the answers to those questions. Unless…” Pausing, he looked back up at me. “You want to come on?”

“No!” I instantly decided, shaking my head.

Tom turned around. “I think it would be quite a good idea, actually. Mostly for ratings, but if you guys are doing this to help people who have been through it, I think you should come out with it,” he encouraged me.

_God dammit_ , I silently swore. He’d guilt-tripped me into being on camera. “I’m not wearing anything…” I muttered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll put you in make-up.” As soon as he said it, a wardrobe mistress and a make up artist were fawning over me. I had the distinct feeling that he’d known that this would happen.

Eventually, the make up-artists had decided to keep my face natural looking (which I thought was ironic), and put me in a black blazer under a forest green top. I sat down next to Harry on the couch, taking his hand. “Thank you for doing this,” he murmured.

Smiling at him, I assured him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

“You will?” he asked. When I nodded, he scooped me up into him, and I felt him inhaling the scent of my hair.

Tom coughed, interrupting our intimate moment. “So. Roxy.”

“So, Tom,” I smirked.

“How do you feel that Harry’s abuse affected your relationship?”

Snickering, I answered like a smart ass, “I’d have to say negatively.” Then, not wanting too much of my Jersey to be showing, I continued with a serious answer, trying not to pronounce any hard A’s or use the plural of you, “yous.” “But, in all seriousness, compared to a lot of other women in my position, I had it really easy. My relationship wasn’t all I had in my life, and it wasn’t abusive ever. I didn’t have kids that I needed to take care of, there were no legal repercussions of me breaking things off, I didn’t have to move out. I guess you could say I had it easy.” Well…that wasn’t really helpful if I was trying to help other women who were in my same situation. ”But,” I interjected before Tom could ask the next question. ”I think, for women in general and especially me, there was sort of this instinct to hang on to him and keep him from falling down the rabbit hole, like he said. I was really afraid of what was going on with him after we broke up, but I had school and my dancing, so I just couldn’t afford to try and save him in that way, which wouldn’t have worked anyway. So I think it’s important for women to realize that they need to get out of this kind of situation, because it’s not healthy and there’s nothing you can do to ‘save’ someone.”

“And in a way,” Harry chimed in, “it was a good thing. After Roxanna and I broke up, it led to everything that culminated in my overdose and my going into rehab, so without the break up I never would have gotten as bad as I did as quickly as I did, which was what led to me getting help. So it was good, in the end.”

Smiling, Tom looked from me to Harry and asked, “So, what are your hopes for the future? Any plans?”

“Are you asking if we’re engaged?” Harry smirked. “Because we’re not. But we are very hopeful about the future. For the time being we’re having a lovely time with my brother and Kate, and with my using, my deployment, there have been all of these big events, so I think for the future we just want an easy, boring life for a while.”

Tom laughed. “I think we’ve got our perfect ending point, there,” he said, and turned off the camera.  
***

_I’m gonna pick up the pieces_   
_and build a Lego house._   
_If things go wrong we can knock it down._   
_My three words have two meanings._   
_There’s one thing on my mind:_   
_It’s all for you._

Harry didn’t want to watch the interview that night, and I didn’t blame him. William and Charles did, though, and they went to Saint James’s Palace to watch and get a feel for how the public was reacting. Like some sort of political machine, the Palace was able to get polling data to interpret the feel of the country. We still weren’t sure that our efforts would pay off. We were trying to put a positive spin on it: Harry had simply wanted to share his experience with others who may be struggling with the same disease. But, however we tried to make it seem, there was still a chance, and a very good chance, that most of the country would be infuriated. In theory, it was their money that had fueled his habit, and then his recovery. I couldn’t blame anyone for being angry about that, but we were just going to have to wait for the data.

Not being thrilled at the prospect of waiting on news that the entire commonwealth thought he was a spoiled brat, Harry and I got into his Range Rover to head back to the Surrey house. Harry drove, his eyebrows furrowed the whole time with his eyes fixed on the road. I could practically feel his tension. We were stopped at a light when he let out a deep sigh and leaned his head back against the headrest. With a sympathetic smile, I gave his hand a comforting squeeze. 

_And it’s dark in a cold December,_  
 _but I’ve got you to keep me warm._  
 _And if you’re broken, I will mend you_  
 _and I’ll keep you sheltered from the storm_  
 _that’s raging on now._

When we got back home, I collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “Long day?” Harry asked with a smirk.

“Long year,” I corrected him. “Actually, long three years.”

He flopped down next to me. “I guess I’m just an exhausting person.”

Giving him a light tap, I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not you. It’s being an adult that’s exhausting.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and gave me a half-hearted smile. I felt a tug at my heart. “You were right, you know.” He shook his head with a questioning look. ”About your mother.”

”I don’t know about that,” he muttered. 

“Harry.” I didn’t continue until he looked up at me. "You never could have done anything to make her love you any less. Not even this.“ The worst part was that I didn’t think he believed me. Maybe it wasn’t even my place to have the audacity to know how she would feel, but you didn’t have to know her personally to know how much she had loved her boys. That wouldn’t have changed if one of them had a drug problem, or wanted to abdicate the throne, or flew to the moon. Knowing that what I had said was true, and hoping that Harry would believe me, I slowly covered his hand with mine and shut my eyes.

_I’m out of touch,_   
_I’m out of love,_   
_I’ll pick you up when you’re getting down._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._   
_I’m out of sight,_   
_I’m out of mind,_   
_I’ll do it all for you in time._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._

We spent two days secluded in our home, which was perfectly fine with us. After all the time that Harry had been away, we had a lot of time to make up. We took advantage of the Jacuzzi, curled up together and watched movies in the home theater. I showed Harry the dress he’d gotten me, which he hadn’t seen on, and then giggled when he demanded that I take it off immediately. On the third day, after we’d had delicious afternoon sex, I was showering and putting my hair back up when I heard the garage door open. ”Haz! Roxy!” William called. My ears immediately pricked up. William hardly ever called me Roxy - he usually opted for Roxanna - so it sounded like he had good news.

“Yeah?” I asked as Harry and I left the bedroom, trying to make it seem like we hadn’t just been fucking.

William and Charles were waiting in the kitchen. When we joined them, William held up a packet of charts and graphs before tossing it down on the counter. ”We’ve got the numbers.”

I looked quickly at Harry. His lips pursed tightly and I knew he was holding his breath while we waited. _Please don’t let it be that bad_ , I silently prayed. I couldn’t stand to see Harry take any more hits. If anyone had the audacity to call him out publicly in the press, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut. He’d shown incredible strength in admitting he had a problem, and in overcoming it - even the Queen had said so. So if someone was going to claim that he was a spoiled brat and it had all just been because he had too much time and money on his hands, well, I wasn’t going to take that lying down.

Finally, William gave us the news. ”It’s nothing.”

Harry blinked. ”What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” William shrugged again with a grin. "Well, the people who didn’t like you before still don’t. 67% of the country said that they sympathized or admired your recovery, and 78% said that your military service was so admirable that it didn’t matter.“

The smile that stretched across my face was so huge it hurt. I reached out and grabbed his hands, kissing his fingers. He seemed dazed, like he couldn’t actually believe the positive response. ”Hey,” I yanked on his arm. Finally, he looked at me. ”This is good news!”

I expected him to be as ecstatic about this as William, Charles, and I all were, but he didn’t seem to believe it. Instead, he forced out a smile at his father and brother. ”Good. Great. Thanks.” Then he turned on his heel and went back to our bedroom.

William was obviously and understandably confused. ”He knows that was good news, right?”

Shrugging, I offered, “I don’t know if he sees it that way. He just admitted his most terrible secret to the entire world. It might take a few days for him to feel good about it.” I couldn’t blame him.

_I’m gonna paint you by numbers_   
_and color you in_   
_and if things we go right we can frame it_   
_and put you on a wall._   
_And it’s so hard to say it,_   
_but I’ve been here before._   
_Now I’ll surrender up my heart_   
_and swap it for yours._

The day after the heirs had delivered the polling data, Harry and I were stretched out on the couch doing absolutely nothing and enjoying it far too much. Actually, I was knitting, one of the hobbies I’d taken up during his deployment, and he was making fun of me for acting like a granny. Eventually, Harry suggested, “Why don’t we go to the pub?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You want to?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Going to have to leave the house sometime.”

Well, he was right about that. I changed into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, one of Harry’s old Arsenal sweatshirts, and put a hat on low. Harry was dressed in similar low-key gear. It wasn’t that we didn’t think we’d get recognized, the attire might just slow the process. “You ready for this, kid?” I asked Harry right before we got out of the car.

Harry shook his head. “No, but this was my brilliant idea, right?”

“Yup. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

_I’m out of sight,_   
_I’m out of mind,_   
_I’ll do it all for you in time._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._   
_I’m out of touch,_   
_I’m out of love,_   
_I’ll pick you up when you’re getting down._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._

In an ideal world, we would have walked into the pub, sat down at the bar, and had trivia night, just like we used to do before Harry left. No one would notice us, no one would bother us, and there would be no pictures on the internet tomorrow morning. I reasoned with myself that the worst that could happen was an awkward silence when we walked in, or an overwhelming number of people trying to get cell phone pictures, in which case, we’d just leave. _No big deal_ , I tried to tell myself, taking a deep breath. Right before we walked in, Harry reached out and laced his fingers through mine. I attempted an encouraging smile, although I knew that we were both hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

_Don’t hold me down._   
_I think the braces are breaking,_   
_and it’s more than I can take._

For a second, everyone in the bar was completely quiet as they looked up and saw us. It was like a ripple. The people closest to the entrance looked up and paused, their hands frozen, half-way lifting their drinks to their mouths. It started with the tables closest to the doors and then went back, and back, and back, all the way to the bar where Bernie was wiping down the taps. When he noticed that the only sound was coming from the football match on the tiny TV behind him, he looked up and saw Harry and I standing in the doorway, cautiously awaiting whatever was about to come next. 

_And it’s dark in a cold December,_   
_but I’ve got you to keep me warm._

It felt like I was in a cage at the zoo. I had, of course, felt this way before when I was out with one of the royals, but the experience was still relatively new to me. Harry had been dealing with it his entire life and was usually unfazed by it. I, on the other hand, still got freaked out sometimes, especially in times like this when we were in a perfectly normal setting. When someone turned the corner in the grocery store and paused, jaw dropped, I always felt so awkward. It was like that now, only times about a thousand.

_And if you’re broken I will mend you_   
_and I’ll keep you sheltered from the storm_   
_that’s raging on now._

Finally, after way too long, Bernie announced, “’is Royal ‘ighness, Prince ‘arry!”

I practically jumped as the entire bar broke into applause. All of the guests stood, the men taking off their baseball caps, if they were wearing them. There were cheers from the whole crowd. There were calls of, “Thank you Captain Wales!” and, “One day at a time, Harry!”

My entire face broke out into a huge, goofy grin, and at the same time I felt the tears brimming over my eyelids. Turning to Harry, I wrapped him up in a tight hug. “Everything’s okay,” I breathed out, relieved. “Everything’s going to be okay.” 

_I’m out of touch,_   
_I’m out of love,_   
_I’ll pick you up when you’re getting down._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._

So it was settled, then. Harry was fine. He was home, he was sober, he was safe, and he was right next to me. I was going to be a dancer in the Royal Ballet Company, and stay in London and be with Harry and my friends. When we got home from the pub, Harry and I lay in bed on our sides, contemplating each other. He reached out and tucked a strand of dark hair behind my ear. “So everything’s going to be fine,” he concluded.

I nodded. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And in seven years…” he started.

“In seven years,” I slowly confirmed, “we’ll get married.”

Harry took my hand and gave my palm a kiss. “And everything will be boring.”

“Nice and boring. Just the way we want it.”

_I’m out of sight,_   
_I’m out of mind,_   
_I’ll do it all for you in time._   
_And out of all these things I’ve done,_   
_I think I love you better now._


	106. The Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "The Last Time" by Taylor Swift ft. Gary Lightbody
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Found myself at your door,_   
_just like all those times before._   
_I’m not sure how I got there._   
_All roads they lead me here._

“You’re my safe place. I don’t care if we start over, or if we pick up where we left off, or…or what. I just…I’m done, Harry. I’m spent. I’ve exhausted myself trying not to be with you. I’ve tried everything. And I’m just done.”

“So…are you saying… what exactly are you saying?”

“No more. Okay? No more. I’ll make mistakes and so will you, and Lord knows things will get complicated. But I’m all in.”

“ _All_ in?”

“All in.”

_I imagine you at home,_   
_in your room,_   
_all alone._   
_You open your eyes into mine_   
_and everything is better._

“What I’m trying to say is…well, I’m a bit older than you and…and I think that…when I think about it, I feel like…”

“For the love of God and all that is Holy please just spit it out, Harry.”

“There are no deal breakers for me, Roxanna. Nothing I can think of would make me want to ever go through anything like that again. I mean, obviously we can’t see the future or anything but…but I want to be with you. I want to get down on one knee. I want to see you in a white dress. I want to hold a little dark-haired baby girl in my arms.”

“Can we have a ginger baby, too?”

“My darling girl. I love you so very much.”

“Almost as much as I love you, kid.”

_And right before your eyes_   
_I’m breaking._   
_No cause,_   
_no reason why._   
_Just you and me._

“So…I’m going to be deployed with the rest of the guys in my regiment.”

“Um…sor…sorry, what? What’s happening?”

“I’m going. To Afghanistan.”

“I think I…I have to go.”

“Fox, we have to talk about this.”

“I have to go.”

“Roxy, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not. I just…need to be…not here.” 

_This is the last time I’m asking you this._   
_Put my name at the top of your list._   
_This is the last time I’m asking you why_   
_you break my heart in the blink of an eye._

“Look…if something happens…I have to say this. If something happens to me, I know you’ll be devastated. But you have to lean on the people around you. You have to lean on Pippa, and Bianca, and the rest of my family. They’ll always be here for you, no matter what. And I don’t want you to feel guilty about moving on. I want you to cry and drink red wine with the girls. I want you to feel as shitty as you’re going to feel, and then I want you to move on. I want you to get out there, go back to the bar by the house, sing karaoke, make more mistakes, drink too much, swear too much. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t find someone else…I want you to find someone else who can make you happy. I swear, Roxanna, he will be in love with you as much as he can, but he’ll still only love you _half_ as much as I do.”

_Find yourself at my door,_   
_just like all those times before._   
_You wear your best apology,_   
_but I was there to watch you leave._

“You’ll stay safe?”

“I’ll stay safe.”

“You’ll come back?”

“I’ll come back.”

“You love me?”

“I will love you forever. You be my girl, all right? You be my sweet, darling girl.”

“I will.”

“I love you with everything, Roxanna.”

“With _everything_.”

_And all those times I let you in,_   
_just for you to go again,_   
_disappear. When you come back_   
_everything is better._

“Harry told me about the discussions you two have been having about marriage. He also told me that you were quite reluctant to agree to anything. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to hear your reservations about getting married.”

“I’m pretty young to be thinking about marriage. I want to be able to dance first. The only thing I love more than dancing is Harry.” 

“Before William proposed to Kate, he was worried about my marriage to his mother. I just wanted to make sure you know that if you and Harry do get married, you won’t have the same problems Diana and I had. You see, she was looking for something I could never give her. When we got married, she didn’t have the self-confidence she gained later on in life. You would never have that problem. You are a bright, beautiful young girl who just happens to be dating the man third in line to the throne, not the other way around. I just wanted to make sure you knew that. Although, I do have to say, Roxanna, that if it doesn’t happen eventually, I’ll be broken hearted.”

“So will I, Your Royal Highness.”

_Right before your eyes,_   
_I’m aching._   
_No past, nowhere to hide._   
_Just you and me._

“Sorry, Will and Kate aren’t here.”

“I know, miss. They sent me here to let you know that they’d be spending tonight at Clarence House. They don’t have access to their mobiles. Their Royal Highnesses don’t know how long they’ll be at Clarence House. The Duchess of Cambridge has asked me to give these to you. They’re Xanax, in case you’re having any anxiety.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Miss DeLaSearle, please. I was sent to make sure you would take this.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“No one knows anything, miss. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

_This is the last time I’m asking you this,_   
_Put my name at the top of your list._   
_This is the last time I’m asking you why,_   
_You break my heart in the blink of an eye._

“Roxy. Roxanna. Wake up my darling.”

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I hate this dream. I know you’ll go away. I’ll wake up and you won’t be there.”

“I promise you, I will.”

“You always promise. You always promise, and I wake up, and you’re gone. I know it’s not really you. You’re probably dead somewhere in a desert. Or a cave.”

“I promise you, I’m not in a cave. I’m right here. It’s not a dream, I assure you.”

“H…Harry?”

“I love you. I’ve missed you so much, my darling.”

“You’re – never – going – back – there – again – ever – I – won’t – let – you.” 

“Just let me look at you for a moment. Oh my darling.”

_This is the last time you tell me I’ve got it wrong._   
_This is the last time I say it’s been you all along._   
_This is the last time I let you in my door._   
_This is the last time I won’t hurt you anymore._

“Dance has always come first in my life, and it’s the thing I’ve always loved the most. Until now. For the first time in my life, there are things that I love more than I love dancing, and there are things that I want more than I want to be a dancer. Before we started talking about it, I never really thought about marriage. I know there are girls who have had their weddings planned since they were six, but I was never one of them. I always thought, you know, it was a nice idea, but I could take it or leave it – marriage and a family. I could be perfectly happy with a career I loved and close friends. But when I looked at those pictures, I knew that…that I wanted a family. And not just this vague idea of a couple of kids and a husband and a dog. I want a family with you. I know all of that probably makes it seem like I’m some lunatic with baby-fever, but – “

“It doesn’t. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. And…I want you to remember that feeling, Roxanna. Where ever you get an offer, where ever you go, whenever you’re feeling lonely and it gets hard, I want you to remember this feeling, right now.”

_This is the last time I’m asking you this._   
_Put my name at the top of your list._   
_This is the last time I’m asking you why._   
_you break my heart in the blink of an eye._

“I got offers.”

“You did! Oh, I’m so proud of you my darling girl! Where from?”

“Moscow, Tokyo, New York, San Francisco, Paris, Havana, interestingly enough…and the RBC. Where do you think I should go?”

“Where do I think? Who cares where I think? The the choice is entirely up to you, my darling.”

“That was exactly what I was hoping you’d say. I made a deal with myself, when I heard my offers. I thought if you asked me to stay, then that would mean that I would have to go, because then I would be staying for you. But if you asked me to go, or said it was my choice, then that would mean that you knew that we were strong enough to handle it, and I’d have no reason to go. If I go to Paris or to Tokyo or to Havana, I know that you and I are strong enough to handle that. We can handle deployments, drug addictions, eating disorders, break ups. So I could choose Paris or Tokyo or Havana, if I wanted to. But I think…I choose RBC.”

“Oh, Roxy, you’ve made me so happy my darling!”

“I’m staying here with you. Forever. And all of those things that we talked about, we’re going to do them.”

“You’ll marry me?” 

_This is the last time I’m asking you,_   
_last time I’m asking you,_   
_last time I’m asking you this._


	107. Seven Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter picks up seven years after the previous chapter.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“It’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you,” I sang, toweling off from my shower. I was leisurely moisturizing when I peeked at my watch. “Oh, shit.” Okay, I didn’t have time to be leisurely doing anything. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I was struggling to poke earrings through my ear lobes when the buzzer on my wall alerted me that I had a guest. “Shit!” On my dash over to the intercom, I stubbed my toe on my suitcase. “Ow, ow, ow! Hello?” I winced into the speaker, checking my feet for any blood. A toe-stub didn’t matter to people in the real world, but to a dancer it could be a career-ender.

It was clear that my doorman was trying not to laugh as he let me know that I had a guest. “There’s someone here to see you, miss.”

“Thanks. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

From the background I heard Harry correct me, “She means twenty. Tell her I’m coming up.”

“No! Don’t come up! I’ll be down in one second!” I insisted, hoping that it was true. Besides, it wouldn’t take me long to get down to the lobby. My rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception outfits had all been sent out already.

When I got down to the lobby, I was barefoot and my hair was still damp. The doorman greeted me with a familiar smile. He had long ago stopped being shocked by my constantly late and frazzled appearances. “Good morning, miss.”

“Morning Freddie!” I waved at him with one hand while putting on my black flats with the other. As Freddie took my bag out to the grey Range Rover idling at the curb, I scanned the block for any paparazzi. No make up and wet hair wasn’t my best look. Thankfully, I didn’t see any around, which I attributed to the fact that they were all probably hiding at the venue, preparing their cameras. All the better to shoot unflattering pictures of me with…

By the time I was hopping on one foot, still putting one shoe on the other on my way out to the car, Freddie and Harry were tossing my bag into the boot of the SUV. Harry flung his arms out to his sides, giving me a frustrated expression. When I got into the passenger seat, he joined me in the driver’s side and lit a cigarette. I waited for the inevitable questions. “What could you _possibly_ have left to pack? _All_ of your stuff is already there!”

“Not _all_ of my stuff,” I argued. “Sorry, I’m ten minutes late. It's not going to kill anyone.”

We were stopped at a red light and Harry held his hands up. “Hey, it’s _your_ best friend. I’m not the one who’s going to feel the wrath of the bridezilla when we’re late.”

“Hey!” Reaching over, I gave him a playful shove. “Bianca is _not_ a bridezilla. She’s just…a little high strung.”

Chuckling, Harry asked, “If B’s high strung, what are you? A bit anxious?”

“If your best friend was getting married, you’d be anxious, too.”

Under his breath Harry muttered, “My best friend _is_ getting married.”

Piers and Bianca’s wedding was a _bit_ of a sore subject between us. They’d been dating for two (arguably one…if you were me arguing) years less than us. When they’d announced their engagement, Harry had sulked around for a few days before finally admitting, “It’s embarrassing, Roxy! Don’t you understand that?” With every tabloid in Britain waiting on tenterhooks for our own engagement announcement, I _did_ understand that, but I wasn’t going to admit it to Harry. In the interest of saving us yet _another_ argument about this, I reached up and turned on the radio.

When we stopped at another red light, I snuck a glance at Harry out of the corner of my eye. He flicked his cigarette butt out the window before rolling it up. His ice blue eyes were trained on the license plate in front of us and his mouth was set in a grim line. _I should have just been on time_ , I thought. I knew that Harry’s frustration was about more than my tardiness, but it wasn’t a good time to be piling on. We were both already stressed out, feeling the pressure of having to act like the perfect, happy couple for the weekend. Not that we weren’t happy, we both were, which was sort of the problem…

Desperately, I tried to think of something to say, absolutely hating the fact that Harry and I had been having more than our fair share of awkward silences lately. We never used to have awkward silences. For the past seven years, all of our silences had been perfectly comfortable. Finally, I settled on, “GC is going to be so cute as a pageboy.” GC was one of many nicknames for Harry’s three-year-old nephew. There was Georgie, Georgie Porgey, GC, Gorgeous George, GCIII, and most recently, Georgie Boom Boom, given his supreme ability to injure himself doing anything and everything. “You could dress him in a parka and duct tape pillows to him and he’d find a way to get a scratch,” William had noted. This was probably true, as three-year-old boys were known to get themselves injured from time to time. Lately, Georgie had begun to enjoy jumping from any tall surface he could find, shouting, “Catch!” sometimes too late. 

A smile spread across Harry’s face. “I know. He’s so excited.”

“Are they already there?” I asked of the Cambridges.

Once again, Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Probably, since they probably weren’t running late.”

_Good one, DeLaSearle._ I cleared my throat. “It’s too bad they couldn’t be in the wedding. I know B felt really bad about it.”

Harry shrugged. “No reason for her to feel bad. You and I are spectacle enough, I’m sure.” He smiled his naughty grin, one I’d been seeing less and less of lately, and my heart soared.

“Well don’t tell that to B. It’s supposed to be _her_ day,” I reminded him.

“ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that,” Harry pointed to both of us. “I’m just not sure the paparazzi know that.”

“You really think they’ll be out?” I asked regretfully. During the first years of our courtship, I had found it futile to try and dissuade the press from photographing me doing simple things like grocery shopping or going to dance practice. Over the years, however, it got more and more annoying and, frankly, increasingly dangerous. Eventually I had come around and started filing with the Press Complaints Commission. The PCC had been created after the death of Princess Diana, mostly to save the boys from having their privacy violated. Before William and Kate got married, the Middletons had sought action whenever the press got out of line. I’d been reluctant to go through the hassle before, in part because I'd assumed that this would require paying a top class lawyer a lot of money. Once I had started getting a paycheck from the RBC, however, it seemed like money worth spending.  
Since Bianca’s wedding was taking place on her own private property, it would be an invasion of privacy for any paparazzo to take pictures. The exception to the rule was our arrival and departure from the wedding. There was nothing to stop them from snapping pictures of us in the car turning into Bianca’s long driveway. One or two pictures that would actually turn out well enough to be sold probably didn’t seem worth it to most, but the actual dollar amount attached to these photographs was a figure that seemed unreal, especially to me.

“We’ll see,” Harry shrugged, "but if I were a betting man, I’d put money on it.”

I tried not to let my sigh sound too exasperated. There were little girls all over the planet who wanted to grow up and meet a prince, but when you got down to it, the truth was that you had to give up a lot more than you’d think.

***

As Harry had predicted, the press had come out for the one quick picture they could take as we pulled into Bianca’s driveway. We pretended to ignore them, immediately stopping any talk about anything important, and plastered our best fake-but-natural smiles on our faces. This was an art form that had taken many years of fine-tuning. I basically had to do it every time I was out. There had been a couple of times when I didn’t see a flashing light and there was a picture of me not beaming, at which point the tabloids would immediately assume that Harry and I had broken up or gotten into a fight. It was _super_ annoying.

When we pulled into the huge circular drive in front of Bianca’s estate, there were people running around carrying flowers, other staff members setting up a huge tent in the back of the house, people in chefs coats with heavy sets of knives. Yup, we were at a wedding! 

A valet offered to park our car for us and Harry got out and tossed him the keys. We made our way up the stone staircase into Bianca’s house, where most of the guests had already amassed. I desperately looked around for someone I knew as we travelled down the long front hallway into the living room, admiring the new interior of Bianca’s mansion. Eight years ago she’d battled an eating disorder, brought on in part by the fact that her father had died at a young age, and her mother had quickly remarried a man who had abused Bianca for years. While Bianca was going through recovery, her mother had divorced the bastard and completely renovated the house, erasing any and all memory of the past. It wasn’t a fix to Bianca’s problems, but at least now she could live in her own house without feeling terrified and disgusted all the time.

“Rossy!” Georgie shrieked from somewhere in the crowd. He came running towards me and jumped into my arms.

“Hey there Georgie Porgie,” I greeted him with a tight squeeze of a hug. Kissing George on top of his sandy blonde hair, I asked, “Where are Mummy and Daddy?”

Georgie pointed over to where his parents were talking to B, Piers, and Pippa. “Talking to Bianca. I’m in the wedding tomorrow!”

“I know,” I laughed. “I’ve heard.”

When I made for the Cambridges, George looked over my shoulder and gave Harry a wave. “Hi Uncle Hazzy!”

“Don’t pretend to be happy to see me. We all know who you’re really excited about,” Harry smirked. “You know G, _I’m_ the one actually related to you.”

George ignored him. “Mummy! Mummy I found them!” he announced to Kate.

“You did!” Kate praised her little boy. Then, giving Harry and I cheek kisses, she asked, “How long have you been here? We’ve been looking for you.”

“We just got here,” Harry told her. “ _Some_ body was late.”

“I’m assuming it was you, Haz,” William smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“How could you be late?” Bianca asked. “All of your stuff is already here.”

“Exactly!” Harry agreed with her.

Thankfully, Pippa took the heat off me. “Did you see the fan club?” she asked, using her nickname for the annoying photographers. 

“Yeah. They definitely did not get my best look,” I gestured to my wild hair.

“It looks fine,” Kate assured me.

“And we’ve got the best of the best coming to tame it tomorrow,” Bianca reminded me. “No crazy Spanish hair in my wedding pictures.”

“Sorry I’m brown!” I apologized for my genetics.

We didn’t have much time to catch up before I checked my watch and realized that if I didn’t want to attend the rehearsal dinner looking like Foxy Brown, I was going to have to start getting ready. “Spice, I’ve gotta go up. You coming?” I asked Harry.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he assured me. I nodded and sucked in a gulp of air, trying to make my body as tiny as possible as I made my way through the huge crowd of people. Bianca’s family was part of the aristocracy, which basically meant that everyone who had ever had any money was at this thing. It also meant that they were completely nonplussed at the sight of Harry, William, and Kate, which I was grateful for. 

I was trying to apply my make up in the mirror when I took another deep breath and put my eyeliner down. I didn’t want my eyelids to look like the bottom of Charlie Brown’s shirt, but if my hands didn’t stop shaking, that was exactly what would happen. Harry and I had both been seeing the same therapist for about nine years now, and he had prescribed me some Xanax for the anxiety that had been plaguing me lately. I didn’t like the idea of my hands vibrating when I was trying to put on my eyeliner, but I also didn’t like the idea of taking medication to fix it. It wasn’t that I had anything against it – Bianca and Harry had both been medicated at one point or another. I just didn’t think a pill would solve my problems. A Xanax wouldn’t make Harry stop being mad at me for not being ready to get married.

After a few deep breathing techniques that the therapist, Dr. R, had shown me, I was finally able to do my makeup. I was just finishing up when I heard the door click softly shut. When I came out of the bathroom, Harry was standing over his suitcase in just a pair of boxers and a white undershirt. My heart squeezed. He was so adorable, with his pale skin and his freckles all over, and his pink boxers. When I wrapped my arms slowly around his waist, he looked momentarily surprised. I didn’t blame him. The two of us hadn’t been sharing a lot of intimacy lately. 

“What’s this?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.

“Nothing. I just love you.”

Harry blinked down at me. “You’re not dying or anything, are you?”

I pinched his side and he squirmed with a chuckle. “No, I’m not dying. And the proper response is ‘I love you, too.’”

“I know that. I was only joking. I love you,” he added, like an afterthought, as he planted a kiss on my forehead. “So do you have a speech planned for tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” I nodded, pulling the maid of honor speech I’d prepared out of my suitcase. “What do you think about this?”

Harry opened the folded up piece of paper and I watched, biting down on my thumbnail as his eyes scanned it. Finally, he looked up and grinned. “Aw, Fox, I think this is perfect.” Before I could stop him from messing up my hair, he trapped me in a hug that was half-headlock and kissed the top of my head. “You’re going to be so great when we start doing events.”

“What?” I shrieked, jumping away from him.

“You know, when you take on patronages. You have to go places and make speeches. Have you thought of which charities you might take up? Will and Kate have done Centrepoint, and my mum did that one, so I think we should join up with them on that.”

Letting out some nervous laughter, I waved my hands in front of me like they were windshield wipers. “Let’s slow down a minute there. We’re not even engaged.”

“Well, yeah, but your birthday _is_ coming up,” Harry pointed out.

I tried not to swear under my breath. It was the day before my best friend vowed to spend the rest of her life with someone. I really didn’t want to fight with Harry about this right now. In the interest of saving an argument for the second time that day, I just forced out a smile at him and asked him to zip up the back of my dress.

***

After the rehearsal dinner (during which Pippa had made a hilarious toast, more like a roast, to the happy couple), the three girls and I were all in Bianca’s room on her bed. She was clearly nervous and we were trying to take her mind off of it. Kate had joined us only after putting Georgie down. “He’s so excited for tomorrow,” she told us with a loving smile. “You would think it was his wedding.” When B and Piers had asked George to be a pageboy, he’d agreed, but only if he could wear “a soldier outfit like Daddy.” Bianca and Piers had to break the bad news to him that he would _not_ be dressed in a mini-RAF uniform (which he had, and was absolutely adorable), but George, taking after his sensitive and caring father, had hugged Bianca and said, “It’s okay, we can still get married.” Through our laughter, we reminded him that Bianca and _Piers_ were getting married, but I understood his confusion. From before he’d even been born, there had been no question: this was Georgie’s world, and we were all just lucky to be living in it.

“So what’s going on with you?” Bianca asked as Kate joined us on her bed.

“Nothing,” I said slowly. When the three of them all gave me pointed looks, I added, “Nothing new.”

The three others all looked at each other, clearly engaging in some sort of telepathy. What the hell? Taking one for the team, Pippa gently ventured, “Have you thought of what you want to do for your birthday?”

“I’ve thought about what I _don’t_ want to do,” I snapped, "and I _don’t_ want to get engaged.”

“Well it’s not that you _don’t_ ,” Kate pointed out. “You just don’t _right now_.”

“Right,” I agreed with her. “Anyway look, can we talk about something else? This is supposed to be Bianca’s day, and nothing’s changed since the last time we talked about this.” The girls and I had previously had just a _few_ (million) discussions about my problems with marriage.

Completely ignoring me and tilting her head to one side in genuine confusion, Pippa asked, “What’s the difference between now and two years from now?”

“Two more years of dancing,” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t see a need to fix what isn’t broken.”

Laughing, Pippa insisted, “This isn’t a car engine, Roxy! It’s marriage!”

“And you _did_ promise,” Bianca reminded me.

Rolling my eyes, I finally let out how much I didn’t care about that. “I made a _vague_ promise _seven years ago_ to my boyfriend who was just _barely_ a year sober, and who had _just_ returned from a deployment, _during which_ he was kidnapped by terrorists. So maybe it wasn’t the _best_ time for me to be making those kind of decisions.”

Kate shook her head. “Roxy, we’re not going to let you out-talk us.” Okay, so I may have been guilty of sometimes trying to talk too much too fast just to get the other person to end the conversation. It had worked really well until Bianca got a degree in psychology and figured out what I was doing. “Not about this. What is the big deal? Don’t you want children?”

“Of course I want children.” This actually wasn’t an obvious given. The thought of having kinds had never really occurred to me until Harry had come home from Afghanistan. We’d gone for a little vacation at Balmoral, his family’s estate in Scotland. While we were there, the Queen had showed me her own personal collection of family photos. The realization had hit me suddenly then – that I wanted a family, and that I wanted a family with Harry. “Not right now, though.”

“So what are you planning to do? Not get married until your water breaks?”

“That would be fine with me.”

“Well it wouldn’t be fine with everyone else,” Kate pointed out, obviously losing patience. I should have backed down, or at least started softening my argument. Kate was one of - if not _the_ nicest person - I'd ever met. If she was getting annoyed with me, it wasn't a good sign.  
“I just don’t get it. I understand the wanting a career part, but you’ve had plenty of time for that. What’s left to do that you haven’t done?” Pippa asked.

Shrugging, I answered, “It’s not about what I haven’t done. It’s about what I’m doing.”

“What does that even mean?” Kate asked with a flat look that let me know that she thought I was full of shit.

“It means that I love my job, and I’m not willing to give that up so that I can professionally attend fancy parties and get scrutinized on my footwear.”

“Enough!” The sound of Kate yelling, and the echo that bounced around Bianca’s bedroom, was unfamiliar. I didn’t like it. It didn’t sound natural. My eyes widened. Pippa and Bianca blinked at her, looking almost as shocked as I felt. “Enough, Roxanna. I _cannot_ sit here _any_ longer and listen to you talk about me and my family like that. It is _not_ just going to ‘fancy parties,’ and I can’t _believe_ that you can sit here and say that after you’ve seen me _work_ , and you’ve seen William _work_ , and you’ve seen Harry _work_. There are days when I’m tired, and sick, and I don’t want to get out of bed, but I _have_ to, because I have a job. And sometimes that job involves holding babies, whose mothers are too addicted to crack to take care of them, and they’re going through withdraw, and they cry, and the only way you can make them stop is to hold them because all they want is the love of someone’s arms. And sometimes that work involves talking to people who have lost their arms and legs because they were walking home from work, back to their friends and family, and they stepped on a land mine. And sometimes that work involves talking to a dying cancer patient who is _eleven years old_. So _don’t_ talk to me like I spend my life going from one meaningless rich-people-function to another, because I don’t.”

Okay. She had a point. “Kate, I didn’t mean – “

“Of course you didn’t _mean_ , Roxy. You never _mean_.”

All right. She had another point. It wasn’t the first time Kate had listened while I made fun of her life choices, even accidentally. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into my lap.

Kate sighed and ran her fingers through her chocolate brown locks. “It’s…it’s fine,” she shook her head. 

I didn’t think it was fine, and I could tell that Kate didn’t, either. In the interest of not ruining the eve of Bianca’s wedding, I got up from the bed. “I should go…try to get my hair under control for the stylist tomorrow.”

“Roxy, don’t leave,” Bianca implored. “We didn’t mean to gang up on you.”

“No, it’s fine,” I falsely assured them. “It’s fine, you need to get some sleep anyway.” Before they could try to talk to me any more about it, I left the room, hearing them start to whisper about what had just transpired. After I shut the door with a soft click, I stood there for a minute, listening in.

“I shouldn’t have shouted,” I heard Kate admit. “She just gets me so frustrated about the marriage stuff!”

“She doesn’t mean to,” Bianca tried to remind her gently.

“I know that,” Kate ceded.

“Let’s face it, marriage takes courage,” Pippa said, "and we all know that courage isn’t Roxy’s strong suit.”

Feeling like I was going to be sick, I decided to go back to our room, hoping that Harry was already asleep. Maybe I should have prepared for it better, all of this wedding-talk at a wedding, but I just couldn’t take any more tonight.


	108. My Best Friend's Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I instantly tensed up when I found that Harry was still awake on his ipad in bed. Almost as soon as I registered the feelings of anxiety and tension, they were replaced by the feeling of guilt. I shouldn’t feel anxious and tense because my boyfriend was still awake. I shouldn’t feel anxious and tense because he was adorable and wonderful and wanted to marry me, literally turn me into a princess, and promise to love me for the rest of our lives. Further proving that he was the perfect boyfriend, Harry could tell just from the look on my face that I was not in the best mood ever. “What’s wrong?” he frowned.

“Nothing,” I shook my head. “Just…you know…sad about tomorrow.”

He nodded, understanding. “Well, that’s all right. For the past ten years you’ve had Bianca all to yourself, and now you have to share her with someone else.”

The fact that Harry knew exactly what I meant and wasn’t judging me for being a selfish, horrible person made my heart swell and I crawled on the bed to him and placed a giant kiss on his mouth. He looked just as surprised as he had when I’d hugged him that afternoon as I slipped my hands under his shirt and started to peel it off of him. Our sex life had taken a pretty severe dive lately. Not because I wasn’t attracted to him anymore – of course I still was. Every girl on the planet was. It just wasn’t like in the movies when you go from hating each other’s guts to tearing each other’s clothes off at the turn of a dime. Mostly when Harry and I had been fighting lately, I pleaded for him to let us continue the discussion later and he rolled his eyes with a scoff before we both got into bed, completely unsatisfied. 

Even though this chance at sex with Harry was sort of a blue moon at the moment, I couldn’t get what I’d overheard the girls saying out of my mind. At some point, it stopped feeling good and started feeling like I was being suffocated. 

With a soft press on Harry’s chest, I whispered, “Don’t make me do this.”

Harry stopped suddenly, and then got out of bed. I winced from the shock of his sudden exit as he made for the bathroom. The water ran for a little while and I shivered under the covers, waiting for whatever was coming. When Harry came out of the bathroom, he wouldn’t look at me as he got into bed. I felt the lump start swelling in my throat. He sat up, lighting a cigarette with his back against the headboard, waiting for me to say something, but I was waiting for the same thing. Pulling the sheets up around me, I sat up. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Angry? You just keep going back on a promise you made to me, and tonight you chose to do it in the middle of sex, which we never have anymore in the first place. Why would I be angry?”

“Harry…please, I just…I need more time.”

“For what? What haven’t you done yet?” he asked, repeating the same question Pippa had just put to me.

“It’s not what I haven’t done! It’s what I _could_ be doing. I just don’t feel like I’m done with dancing, yet.”

“And you may never feel that way,” he shot back. “What then?” 

There wasn’t any way I could give him an answer. If I had my way, nothing would change between Harry and I. At some point, we might have a kid, but there was no reason that I had to stop dancing to do that. If this were any other man, I could just keep going on with my life, but since it was Harry, it was different, and I hated that. “I…I don’t know,” I answered with a lame shrug.

Harry shook his head and inhaled on the cigarette a few times. “You promised me, Roxy. You _promised_.”

“And I meant it, when I said it,” I insisted, feeling the hot tears leak out of my eyes. “I didn’t think I would feel this way.” Harry didn’t say anything, just kept inhaling and exhaling angry puffs of smoke. My entire body was shaking. Was this it? What were our other options? “Please,” I reached out for him, literally begging him. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his beautiful blue eyes, with his long, rust-colored eyelashes. My heart ached. What was I supposed to do if I couldn’t look into those eyes anymore? “Can’t do what?”

Shaking my head, I pointed out, “I can’t…there’s nothing I can do. I know it’s not fair. I know I promised you, but I just…I can’t right now. So if…if this is what you…h-h-have to do.” I broke down in the middle of my sentence. The thought of not being with Harry was making it hard to breathe. My stomach started churning like I was on a rollercoaster, but going way too fast, with far too many turns and ups and downs. My heart was racing, like bat wings inside my chest. I was going to be sick, I knew I was.

Harry reached out for me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Sh,” he cooed into my hair. “Sh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” I sobbed, shaking my head. Harry and I had reached the point in our relationship where he didn’t care that I was getting snot all over the sheets on the bed. “It’s not okay. You’re going to keep being mad at me, and I’m going to keep hating it. I’m sorry.”

He hugged me tighter. “It’s okay. We’re fine. I’m not leaving.”

I blinked up at him and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Why not?”

Harry thought this over. “Because I would rather be miserable with you than miserable without you.”

Sniffling back my sobs, I let out a shaky breath. “We might have to see Dr. R about that.”

***

_Well I came home_   
_like a stone_   
_and I fell heavy into your arms._   
_These days of dust_   
_which we’ve known_   
_will blow away with this new sun._

The next morning, I woke up with puffy eyes from the tears brought on by my discussions with my girlfriends and Harry last night. Bianca huffed, frustrated, and commanded the make up artist to fix me. While the poor girl tried to de-puff my eyes while another attempted to de-frizz my hair, Kate, who was there to refill our champagne flutes, approached me. “Roxy, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Waving a hand, I assured Kate that all was forgotten. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

“It sort of is. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“Kate, really, it’s water under the bridge." She chewed down on her bottom lip, clearly wanting to say something more. Before she could, I reached out and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. “Come on. It’s Bianca’s day.”

Agreeing with me, Kate just gave me a smile and let go of whatever it was that she wanted to say.

_But I’ll kneel down,_   
_wait for now._   
_And I’ll kneel down_   
_on my ground._

It was nearly ten years since I’d watched my friend, Kate Middleton, walk down the aisle of Westminster Abbey in the most beautiful wedding dress I’d ever seen, on her way to becoming Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. By that point, Harry and I were officially dating, and William and Kate were close to becoming two of my nearest and dearest friends. It had been the happiest day of my life, mostly because it had felt just like I was living in a dream. During the evening reception, Harry and I had finally told each other that we loved each other. It was, to be a total cliché, magical. We’d been to other weddings since then, friends of Harry’s or girls in the company’s, but come on – was there going to be a more beautiful wedding than Will and Kate’s?

_And I will wait,_   
_I will wait for you._   
_And I will wait,_   
_I will wait for you._

Maybe Bianca’s wedding wasn’t _more_ beautiful, but it was definitely just as good. She walked down the aisle in an a-line Vera Wang creation with a soft, lavender bow around the middle. She also had the same colored flowers in her hair, with a blusher for a veil. I’d offered up Harry, and Kate had done the same with William, but Bianca was certain that she wanted to make the trek down the aisle by herself. I thought it was incredibly brave of her – I never would have done that alone…although I didn’t really have a father either, so I'd never thought much about my options. While I watched Bianca make her way down to a misty-eyed Piers, I added not having someone to walk me down the aisle to the list of reasons I didn’t want to get married.

_So break my step_   
_and relent._   
_Well you forgave,_   
_and I won’t forget._

Church of England weddings were all pretty ritual, so I knew what was going to happen. I always thought it was super tacky when couples wrote their own vows, anyway. They never made it through them without blubbering, which made me embarrassed and awkward. Harry told me that was because I was becoming too English and didn’t like outward displays of emotion. I remembered this with a smirk during the ceremony and looked across the altar to Harry. He was looking at the happy couple, but he must have sensed my look because he met my eyes. I winked at him from across the way and he smiled at me, that naughty smirk that I loved so much.

I was considering making a rude face at him just to be a jerk when the bishop got to the part of the wedding that always made me choke up. I wasn’t sure why – it had started at Kate’s wedding and now whenever I heard it I started to bawl like a baby. More accurately, I started to cry like a howler monkey, but that’s neither here nor there. As Bianca placed Piers’s new platinum wedding ring on his finger, she recited, “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee honour; and all my worldly goods with the I share.”

When I looked back up from wiping my eyes, Harry was still looking at me with a knowing smirk. I had to reach into the tissues buried in my bouquet as Piers put Bianca’s ring on her finger. I watched another person vow to take care of my best friend for the rest of her life. “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee honour; and all my worldly goods with thee I share.”

_Know what we’ve seen_   
_and can live less._   
_Now in some way_   
_shake the excess._

And then it was done. My best friend on this earth was married, my other best friend had a three-year-old son, heir to the throne, and I was desperately trying to cling onto the past while everybody else was looking forward to the future. As Bianca and Piers kissed before they walked back down the aisle to take pictures, I thought that I would give absolutely anything to be able to rewind my life, for it to be my first year at the RBA, for Bianca and I to be living in our cramped dorm room, watching bad reality TV, passing a bag of chocolate candy back and forth, and choosing to do anything but study. I wasn’t sure why I was getting so nostalgic – at the time I certainly hadn’t thought our tiny room was anything to cherish.

Harry frowned at me as we linked arms to go back down the aisle. “What’s up?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” I plastered a fake smile on my face and kept it there as we all took pictures.

_‘Cause I will wait,_   
_I will wait for you._   
_And I will wait,_   
_I will wait for you._

The reception was almost as amazing as the ceremony. There was nothing I enjoyed more than seeing all of the people I loved in one room, seeing all of my friends happy. Harry spun with one of the flower girls on the dance floor while Pippa and I sipped champagne. “So, how is everything?” she asked. When we were younger, we’d never had to ask each other this. We saw each other every weekend. But I wasn’t twenty-years-old anymore, and neither was Pippa. Will and Kate had their official royal engagements, plus George, and Bianca was married now. It felt like everyone was moving on, and I was just being left behind.

With my heart feeling heavy, I turned to Pippa. “We’re in a really shitty place.”

_So I’ll be bold_   
_as well as strong_   
_and use my head alongside my heart._   
_So tame my flesh_   
_and fix my eyes;_   
_a tethered man free from the lies._

Pippa’s mouth dropped open. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Me and Harry. We’ve been fighting for months.”

Pippa didn’t need more explanation that this. “Roxy, you’re sort of down to the wire here, aren’t you? I mean, you said you would. It’s going to be sad to leave RBC, yes, but you promised. And it doesn’t matter _when_ you promised," she insisted before I could interject. "You have no other problems in your relationship other than he wants to walk down the aisle and you don’t. In my opinion, that’s not even a problem, really, you’re just getting cold feet.”

_But I’ll kneel down,_   
_wait for now._   
_I’ll kneel down_   
_on my ground._

“Whose side are you on here?” I asked her, raising an eyebrow.

She ignored this question. “You know, if you really want to get some advice on getting overfear of committment, you should talk to William.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Can you think of someone else more experienced in that area?”

Could I think of someone more experienced than the man who had dated his girlfriend for ten years before marrying her? No, no I could not. 

_Raise my hands,_   
_paint my spirit gold,_   
_and bow my head,_   
_keep my heart slow._

As I looked out onto the dance floor, it was hard to believe that there was ever a time where William had been unsure of whether or not he wanted to marry Kate. He looked handsome as usual, twirling around the dance floor with his beautiful wife. Georgie approached them and held his arms up to Kate. She and William held their arms around him and he laughed as they danced, the three of them all together. Thinking about how their marriage almost never come to fruition because William was afraid gave me goosebumps. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The thought of talking to my boyfriend’s brother about my fear of marrying Harry wasn’t thrilling, but William practically had a PhD in a fear of commitment. Who better to ask than the expert?

A new song started, and Harry danced over to me, holding his hand out. “They’re playing our song.”

“Our song” was “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John, and it was not playing right now. Frowning, I listened to what the DJ had put on. It was “I Will Wait” by Mumford  & Sons. Laughing, I placed my hand in his and we headed out to the dance floor.

_‘Cause I will wait, I will wait for you._   
_And I will wait, I will wait for you._

Harry and I rarely danced. We had only been out to a club together a handful of times before Harry had gotten sober. We danced sometimes at KP when I was in school and had practiced there, but since I was older we hadn’t danced together; at least, not until lately when the two of us had been attending more and more of our friends’ weddings. Maybe it was because I was older and less insecure now, or maybe it was because everyone was doing the same thing, but now I wasn’t afraid to let Harry throw me around on the dance floor, to be pulled back into him, feel the heat of his body just for a second and then be spun away again. We had changed, we were older, and I knew better now. I had moved across an ocean and fallen in love with a prince, but my story was still a long way from ending with a Happily Ever After. 

_I will wait, I will wait for you._   
_And I will wait, I will wait for you._


	109. Dancing Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When we got back to London, Harry gave me a kiss and we parted ways. He had to go to Clarence House to work with the Cambridges and his dad about their summer events. I headed off to my Chelsea apartment. Pippa didn’t live far, and I wanted my own apartment after living with people for three years. On my days off, I could lay around in bed all day watching bad reality television without feeling judged, and I could wake up and make breakfast completely in the nude…which I learned was a lot more liberating in theory. In practice, it could result in some ugly burns. I was relieved to get back to my own, open, sunlit apartment after all of the suffocating conversations I’d been having with Harry and the girls. Sighing, I placed my bags down and took it all in.

Looking back at my overstuffed suitcase, I figured that I had two options. I could unpack…or I could get in bed, order take away, and watch _Made in Chelsea_. Besides, I only had today to relax. Tomorrow morning I had workshop, tomorrow night we had a show, and that was my life Mondays through Friday. Saturday there was just a performance at night. The company performed Saturday matinees and Sundays but I’d gotten far enough up the RBC ladder that I didn’t dance those.

I had exfoliated, paid the delivery guy for my pad thai, and applied an avocado mask when the phone rang. “Hello?” I asked through a mouthful of noodles.

“Roxanna,” my mother greeted me in an obviously annoyed tone of voice.

“Yes?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t think there was a holiday or birthday I’d missed recently, and I hadn’t been fighting with my sister or anything.

“Is there something you wanted to tell your mother?”

Pausing, I thought about it for a second. I’d just seen her when I was back home for vacation earlier in the summer. What was she talking about? “Um…I’m exfoliating?”

“Are you exfoliating with a big rock on your finger?” she accused.

“What? No! What are you talking about?”

“ _In Touch_ says you got engaged at Bianca’s wedding.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ma, I’ve told you a million times not to read that stuff.”

“Yeah, but I stopped listening to you when it turned out that they were actually right!” she shot back. A couple of years ago the press had caught on to the secret we’d been keeping for two years – that Harry was a recovering drug addict. We did all the damage control we could; Harry did an interview confessing before the articles were published, but the facts were the facts. It was true, and the press had been right that time.

“That was _one time_ ,” I reminded her. “Remember when they said I was pregnant?”

My mom scoffed. “Which time?”

“See,” I pointed out.

“Okay, okay,” she accepted defeat. “I just wanted to make sure. I know it’s coming soon.”

It was my turn to scoff. “Oh you are, are you?”

“Yes! Didn’t you decide on that? Besides, I’m _dying_ for another grandbaby. Eddie’s all grown up now.” 

My nephew Eddie was ten-years-old. Hardly all grown up, but I knew what my mom meant. Having children was another part of marriage that terrified me. The first time I’d held little Georgie, I’d been sitting there, looking down at him and loving him with everything in me, when a scary thought occurred. Later that night, back at Harry’s apartment at KP, I’d admitted my fear to him. “I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone as much as I love Eddie and George. What if I don’t love my own kids that much?”

“Of course you will,” Harry had chuckled. 

I still wasn’t convinced, almost four years later. There was nothing better on the entire planet than when George ran up to me with a huge hug or clung to my leg when his parents came to pick him up after Harry and I watched him for the day. 

Unwilling to confess this to my mom, I replied, “So then tell Grace to pop out another kid.”

“She says she’s done,” my mom regretfully told me, because she’d clearly already put in her request. My sister hadn’t exactly planned to have Eddie so soon after getting married anyway, and she was a brain surgeon and her husband was a psychiatrist, so it’s not like they had all of the time in the world. I could see why they wouldn’t want another kid. 

“Well Mom, maybe one of these days the press will get it right again and I actually will be knocked up,” I offered. Then I changed the subject before my mom could interrogate me about wedding plans.

***

At the moment, the most important man in my life was Harry. Running a second so close that he was practically on top of him was my dance partner, Marcus Rhodenski. At the end of our third year at the RBA we’d both gotten offers from the RBC. Marcus had sworn up, down, and sideways, that he was going to Paris or Russia, but in the end had decided to stay put, partly because it was what I was doing. We’d been partnered up in our first year at the academy and had stayed paired up for the past seven years. We started out in the corps together, paying our dues until the principle dancers, Victoria White and Stanley Glass, had retired and created a vacancy. The other dancers had only half-jokingly commented that they shouldn’t even audition – the places were clearly going to be filled by me and Marcus. They’d turned out to be right.

Over the past ten years, Marcus had danced with me while I dated a prince, broke up with a prince, helped Harry through his drug addiction, supported my best friend during her recovery from anorexia, and nearly lost my mind when Harry was deployed. We’d been Odette and Prince Henrick, the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier, Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella and Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty and that Prince Charming, too; we’d danced _Don Quixote_ , _La Bayadere_ , _Gisele_ , _La Sylphide_ , _Stars & Stripes_. We’d travelled the world together – Paris, New York, Japan, Sydney. We’d reached a level of communication where speaking was unnecessary. We could tell each other’s moods just from a look. It would have been romantic if Marcus wasn’t very obviously gay.

So when I walked into our morning workshop on Monday, I didn’t have to say anything for him to frown, as if to ask me what was wrong. I shook my head. We would have workshop with the rest of the company and then our pas de deux practices, and we could talk then. The other members of the Royal Ballet Company had long ago lost interest in my relationship with Harry. I didn’t talk about it all the time or anything, they just really didn’t care about it at all. We were members of one of the most important dance companies on the planet – who had time for prince and princesses not of the _Swan Lake_ variety? 

After workshop, we headed into one of the practice studios. We were there for a good four hours before we took a break. “So. What’s up? Something rotten in the state of Windsor?” he asked as we toweled off our sweat. After I had told him all about the conversations Harry and I, and the girls and I, had been having at the wedding, Marcus gave me a puzzled look. “I’m not sure I understand what the problem is here. Someone is asking you to spend the rest of your life with him, _and_ to have unlimited access to _all_ the shoes. And you’re…upset about this?”

“It’s not that simple,” I rolled my eyes at him.

Marcus chuckled and we sat down to stretch. “Well what are your reservations?”

Reaching over to my feet in front of me, I tried to explain. “Did you forget the part where he’s asking me to give up dancing?”

“No,” Marcus replied, spreading his legs and reaching to one side. “I also didn’t forget the part where you made a promise, and that you’d be a princess.”

“I’d be a duchess,” I corrected him, “and I made a promise when I was twenty years old and my entire life was up in the air. I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Marcus leaned over to the other side. “But a promise is a promise, and a duchess is still pretty good. And let’s be real here – we’re old.”

“We’re not _that_ old,” I pointed out. “I still have a good five years of dancing in me.”

“ _If_ you’re lucky and _if_ you don’t get injured.”

“Okay, well what about the rest of my life? What about all of those things that I can’t do when I’m HRH?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Okay, I was sort of struggling to come up with something. “Oh! Like, remember that time we were in Japan and we took a bunch of Saki bombs and then tried to sleep in one of those hotels with pods and we got kicked out?”

He gave me a scrutinizing look. “You don’t want to get married because you want to get kicked out of a Japanese pod hotel?”

“No, I mean, not that specifically, but things _like_ that. Travelling and having all of those funny stories and, you know, living my life.”

“Right, because everyone knows royals _never_ travel. They _never_ go on holiday and they _never_ go on walks about.” He sashayed away from me and I glared at him as he turned a triple pirouette. When he landed it, he came out of his pose and placed his hands on his hips. “Besides, aren’t you tired of always being left out all the time?”

Why did I tell him everything? Why didn’t we just have a professional working relationship where we were co-workers and nothing more? No, instead he had to go and be one of the closest friends I had in the world and I told him everything and it was now coming around to bite me in the ass. The short answer was yes, I was tired of always being left out of everything. Harry got to do all of the fun things – the Trooping the Colour, Order of the Garter; and the significant things – the Remembrance Day and Thanksgiving services. I would have loved to be a part of all of those, and after being incorporated into the Firm for so long, I always felt a twinge of resentment that I didn’t get to go, although I could certainly understand why. It had been an inconvenience, a mild annoyance, before, but when GC was born was when I had really lost it. In the last days of Kate’s pregnancy, the days after she’d completed her official engagements and was groaning about being hot and fat and uncomfortable, she’d confided to me that she was actually terrified.

“What?” I had blanched, completely surprised by this confession.

Hormonal and, therefore, extremely emotional, Kate had wiped away the tears leaking out of her eyes. “What if I’m a terrible mother? And it’s going to be so painful!”

Well…the second part was probably true. I had assured Kate, however, that she would never be a terrible mother. First of all, she hadn’t ever failed at anything in her entire life, so the fact that she would be a failure at this was just statistically improbable. “And you have a _huge_ support system. You have your mom, and Pippa, and me and B.”

Kate had taken a deep, rattling breath (honestly, crying and breathing were probably uncomfortable for her now that her tatas had grown roughly to the size of watermelons) before nodding and noting, “It’s too bad you won’t get to see the baby for so long.”

This was the second surprising thing she’d said in about two minutes. Wouldn’t get to see the baby? What was she talking about?

Suddenly, like someone had punched me in the gut, I realized what she meant. If this had been anyone else – Bianca, or my older sister, Grace – I would be there as soon as the baby had been delivered. I’d count all ten tiny fingers and toes. I’d tell them which traits had been inherited from which parent. I’d marvel at the way something given life just minutes ago had already figured out how to wrap it’s fingers around my thumb. I’d kiss it’s chubby cheeks. But, since this was the future heir to the throne, I had no right to be there. Not even in the days after the baby was born, before Kate left the hospital. My best friend was having her first child, the future King or Queen of the Commonwealth, and I was going to have to wait to see him or her on the news, just like every other person in Britain. And that infuriated me.

In the end, it had been even more agonizing than I had originally thought. William had been given an encrypted phone from which he could call his family when the baby was born, so he’d been able to call his grandmother, his dad, and Harry. I hadn’t been expecting to be included in that call, but Harry couldn’t even call me afterwards, because Will and Kate wanted to keep it quiet for as long as possible (which, in the end, ended up being an impressive four hours), and Harry’s phone _wasn’t_ encrypted. The day after Georgie was born, the Duke and Duchess had gone over to KP to show him off to the family, while I’d watched them leaving the hospital on my TV screen, like the rest of the country. It had been _weeks_ before I’d been able to finally hold that little boy. I tried not to act as hurt as I felt – this wasn’t about me – but I _was_ hurt. Whether we had formally announced it or not, Georgie would be my nephew one day, and I wanted to be there with my beautiful friends who were over the moon and so in love with their son. Instead of being able to visit them in the hospital and bring teddies and flowers and balloons and cute baby outfits, I’d had to wait until after the Christening, until it was seen as tasteful.

Not to mention Harry’s deployments. He’d first gotten deployed seven years ago, during my last year with the Royal Ballet Academy. In short, it had been hell. Every spouse of a deployed soldier, airmen, what have you would probably have described the experience as hellish; that was nothing unique to Harry and I. What was unique was that, if something happened to Harry, I was just shit out of luck. Hypothetically, had I fallen in love with a member of the military, and he had gotten deployed, and the worst possible scenario came to be a reality, then I would at _least_ get a place at the funeral. Since this was Harry, however, there was no such guarantee. Not only was there no guarantee, but the reality of the situation was that I most likely wouldn’t be able to go. It would be a state funeral. His family would be there, hundreds of heads of states, other royalty, presidents, prime ministers, I don’t know who the fuck else – but not me. There would simply be no room. 

The first deployment had been bad enough. Harry had been slotted for a four-month tour in Afghanistan, which he very nearly finished...until he got kidnapped and held for ransom for nearly a week, and had to be saved by the Special Air Service; or, the British equivalent of U.S. Navy Seals or French Green Berets. Since I was, technically, a nobody, I wasn’t even allowed to wait at Clarence House with the only other people on the planet who loved him and cared about him as much as I did, who were as terrified as I was. So when, two years after that, he told me he was going back, I was livid. 

“Are you _fucking kidding me_?” I had shouted, chucking a mug full of coffee against a wall. By this point, we were all still living in the home we’d gotten in Surrey. Well, it belonged to the royals. I technically rented the room I shared with Harry (one other thing that infuriated me). The last time he’d told me about his deployment, Harry had taken me completely by surprise. This time, he had tried to incorporate me into the decision-making process, but I had been _certain_ that it wouldn’t come to fruition. His grandmother would _never_ allow it, not after what had happened the last time. Maybe it had just been my wishful thinking, but I hadn’t been concerned at all. So when Harry came home from a meeting about it at Clarence House (one of many that hadn’t yet resulted in a second deployment), I hadn’t been worried at all. 

Until he told me that it was happening.

“Roxy,” he had sighed, wearily.

“No, absolutely not. No,” I shook my head.

Harry blinked. “You suddenly get veto power over my life?”

“Over your stupid fucking decisions I do! Do you _remember_ that you _almost died_ the last time? And not that you, you know, dodged a bullet. There were men who wanted to chop your head off and put it on YouTube! Do you remember that?” I shrieked.

“Yeah, I do, it was my head!” he pointed out. 

“This is the same as if you came up to me and said, ‘You know what Roxy, I’m thinking of shooting up again,’” I insisted.

Harry had glared at me. “I don’t think that’s an accurate analogy.”

“Well I _fucking do_!”

Even though I was shouting at the top of my lungs, Harry remained calm, cool, and collected. He had merely dropped to his knees and started collecting the shards of ceramic mug that had shattered on the tile floor. Finally, he stood up and tossed the pieces in the trash before looking at me. “You know what, Roxy? You’re being a selfish bitch.”

My jaw had practically hit the tile. Harry _never_ said things like that to me – ever. Not even in the throws of our deadliest knock-down, drag-outs, of which there were many, believe me. He may have accused me of being selfish, he may have told me that I was acting like a bitch, but he had never said both at the same time, and even that was rare. Usually what happened was that I was enraged about something and he just blew me off and ignored me until I could have a rational discussion with him…which usually took a long time. So the fact that he was standing two feet away from me calling me a selfish bitch was surprising, to say the least. “ _Excuse_ me?” I asked.

Then, for the second time in the entire four years that we had known each other (at the time), Harry had completely lost it and gave in to his utter rage. “I _told_ you I wanted to go back there!” he reminded me, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. “And all you can fucking think about is yourself!”

“What the _fuck_ Harry?” I shouted back, kind of glad that I wasn’t the only one raving like a lunatic for once. “I don’t give a shit about myself! _Myself_ isn’t going to be in the middle of some fucking _desert_ , in danger of getting _blown to pieces_! _Myself_ will be here, _again_ , waiting, _for you_!”

“Exactly!” he confirmed. 

Throwing my arms out to the sides, I asked, “Then _how_ am I being selfish?”

“Because you’re afraid that if something happens to me again, you’ll have to wait it out here alone, just like last time!”

“Yeah!” I agreed, tears of anger, frustration, and downright terror stinging my eyes. “Yeah, I fucking am afraid of that!”

Finally, Harry’s body relaxed again. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. The reason he always had such a good handle on his emotions was because he had spent _years_ working with Dr. R on techniques to avoid turning to drugs and alcohol to express them. After three deep breaths, he opened his eyes and looked at me with a helpless shrug. “I told you the solution, Fox. I told you, and I’ve been telling you, and you don’t want to do that, and that’s…that’s okay, I get it. But then this,” he gestured to the space between us, the wedge that my reluctance to tie the knot was pushing us apart, “is what you get.”

“Well…that’s not fucking fair,” I got out, although I wasn’t sure if I was shouting or sobbing. Harry had just stood there and held his arms out for me and I clutched onto him, worried that it might be one of the last times I got to do so. 

The next day I’d shown up for workshop with bags under my eyes, and Marcus had immediately shaken his head and muttered, “Not again.”

Snapping back to the present, I sat up straight from where I’d been stretching on the floor. “You know Marcus, I would really appreciate some support here.” It was true – I needed someone to back me up, and I thought that Marcus of all people would understand my reluctance to marriage so that I could keep dancing.

He offered me a sympathetic smile. “Of course I understand why you don’t want to give this up, but I think you’re out of options here. You told him you’d do it, all of your friends are doing it, you want to have babies. You’re looking at the one negative point in all of this as opposed to all of the silver linings.”

Marcus held his hands out, helping me up before instinctively reaching his arms out to me. I twirled in to them and he dipped me low. I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Let’s face it, love,” he beamed down at me. “You’re just not willing to give up one dance partner for a new one.”

It was statements like these that made me feel like my bones were vibrating. If I married Harry, for the rest of my life, he would be holding me through every dance, sitting next to me on every plane ride, across from me at every meal. I wasn’t sure if this terrified me or filled me with joy, but I figured that I shouldn’t be saying “yes” until I found out.


	110. An Interesting Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Fortunately for me, nothing that happened at Bianca’s wedding or what Marcus had said weighed on me too heavily for the next month. It just didn’t have the opportunity to come back up. June was a big month for the royals – they had a thanksgiving service for the Queen’s birthday, the Trooping the Colour, the Order of the Garter. It all sounded a little ridiculous to me and I wasn’t sure what any of it meant (despite Harry’s best efforts to explain it all to me, which usually ended with my eyes glazing over until he was done and then asking him why everyone had to wear such silly hats all the time), except that I didn’t get to see any of them very much. Harry and I were already both pretty busy most of the time so adding all of these official duties into his schedule made it more difficult than usual. 

So, come August, I was looking forward to the long weekend we were taking for my birthday. On the actual day, Harry would be off with the army at work, so we’d decided to take the opportunity to go to our Surrey house. Seven years ago, right before Harry’s first deployment, he and the Cambridges had all gone in on a house together before asking me to move in with them. In reality, Kate and Will were only there a fraction of the time; between their royal tours and other duties, they travelled between the Surrey house, London, and the rest of the world. The only reason they even got the house was because it was a ruse to lure me into living with them. Okay, that was making it sound worse than it was. They’d asked me to move in because they knew that Harry was getting deployed and they knew that I’d have nothing to do but sit around and wait. The royals had thought that it might be easier for me if I got to do it with the Cambridges instead of completely on my own. 

Living in Surrey had been amazing. We fell into our own little routines – one of us cooking dinner on a specific day of the week, taking turns cleaning the house, trivia night at the pub every Tuesday, happy hours, cook outs, wine nights with the girls. It had been what would probably end up being remembered as the best three years of my life. During Harry’s second deployment Will and Kate had announced that they were pregnant, to the surprise of everyone, including me. Kate had gotten really sick and had to be taken to the hospital for dehydration, and it turned out she was suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, which apparently involved throwing up…a lot. (Morning sickness so bad you had to be hospitalized was another item on my list of reasons that having kids scared the shit out of me.) When Harry had gotten home, with no kidnapping incidents this time, the four of us had a talk about what to do with the Surrey House. We’d basically decided that we’d all vacate, but hold onto the property for a haven when we needed to get away from London. By this point I was making a decent amount with the RBC and was looking forward to not having roommates, as much as I loved living with the royals. Our lives were just shooting in different directions, and Will and Kate had their apartment at KP where they’d raise the baby, not in a place where Uncle Harry and Auntie Roxy went to the local pub and participated way too competitively in a game to see who held the most useless knowledge of just about everything. 

So we decided to hold on to the house, and that, when Harry and I got married, they’d sign the deed over to us. In the beginning of the Cambridge’s marriage, they’d had their own house in Angelsey. It had been wonderful for cultivating their private life; their marriage that could be just the two of them and not the entire United Kingdom. Harry and I would want the same thing, and we already knew we were safe in Surrey. For the first time, during that conversation, Kate still beaming even though she’d been ill for weeks, I thought, _Am I really going to do this?_ Was I really going to marry this person and inherit this house? Was this really my life? Like most unpleasant things in my life, I decided not to even _think_ about crossing that bridge until I came to it. 

I was relieved that we weren’t doing anything extravagant for my birthday, and it was a welcome enough gift just to spend time with Harry again. When we were apart for too long, like we had been in July, it made me uneasy, like when you leave the house knowing you forgot something, and on the way to work you realize that you’ve locked your keys inside. I was looking forward to being with him again, getting the feeling like I was being wrapped up in something warm when we were reunited. At the same time, however, I was gripped with crippling fear that Harry was planning a proposal.

“Well if he does, then you’ll say yes,” Bianca commanded as we discussed it over brunch. She was glowing and tanned, fresh off her honeymoon in Bora Bora.

“ _Pardon_?” I asked with a French accent, cupping my hand around my ear.

Rolling her eyes at my dramatics in the same manner she’d been doing for ten years, Bianca insisted, “You’ll say yes, Roxy, and whatever this is that you’re doing right now,” she gestured vaguely at me, “you’ll just have to get over it.”

Snapping my fingers together, I exclaimed, “Oh! Just get over it! Simple as that! You’re right – it _is_ that easy!”

“Roxy.”

“Bianca.”

“I’m sick of you acting like you’re Norma Rae. You’re being a cowardly little shit, and if your amazing, handsome, loving, wonderful boyfriend proposes to you, you’ll say yes.”

In the time it took for me to pick my chin up off the table, the waitress came over, refilled my mimosa glass, and left before I summoned up words. “ _What_?” Okay, so I knew the girls had all been calling me a coward since the day before Bianca’s wedding, but they certainly hadn’t said it to my face.

“You’re afraid, Roxy. I don’t blame you – getting married is a big commitment. It’s scary, but every adult person makes that commitment. Or, if you don’t, then you have to face the reality of losing Harry.”

Slowly raising an eyebrow, I asked, “So you’re saying that Harry’s giving me an ultimatum?”

Shrugging, Bianca sipped her bloody Mary before chomping down on a celery stick. “No idea, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he does soon.”

Pushing away my cold plate of eggs, beans, and fried bread, I muttered, “Before your wedding he told me that he’d rather be miserable with me than miserable without me.”

Bianca bit down on the corner of her toast. “Yeah. Sounds like you two’ve got a really good situation on your hands.”

I tried to get her words out of my head as Harry and I made our way to the Surrey house, and I didn’t mind the quiet or seclusion at all. We’d been on a dozen vacations to tropical paradises, romantic European cities, weeks spent on yachts in the Mediterranean basin. I didn’t need anything expensive or over-the-top. The time we got to spend alone, just the two of us, was what I really craved.

In true British fashion, it rained most of the weekend, so Harry and I spent the majority of our time inside. I read classic romance literature, like I always did, and Harry was content to watch whatever football match was on TV and play Angry Birds on his ipad. The funny thing was that for as much as I missed Harry when he was gone, we certainly didn’t do that much when we were together. For the first couple of years it had been so thrilling and exciting just to be in love and be around him, to be a part of his crazy world. Then, somewhere along the way, that dizzying feeling had turned into less of an exciting whirlwind and more of a deeply planted desire to be next to him. I didn’t care what I was doing - sitting at home watching shitty reality TV, eating breakfast, getting off my fat ass and going for a run, going grocery shopping – I wanted Harry to be doing it with me.

On Saturday night as the drizzle pattered softly against the windows, I looked up from the Kindle Harry had gotten me for my twenty-fifth birthday. I’d been reluctant to purchase an e-reader, but Harry had pointed out that when we went on holiday, my bags were always weighed down by the fact that I was entirely incapable of travelling without at least three books. I’d begrudgingly agreed with him and a few months later unwrapped a Kindle in a gold sequined cover. Harry was currently reading something off his ipad, his rust-colored brows furrowed and his lips were slightly puckered. My heart warmed like slowly melting chocolate. I couldn’t believe we’d been doing this – reading in comfortable silence across the room from one another – for ten years. Sometimes it seemed like we’d always been together, other times it felt like we’d just started dating yesterday. Sure, Harry had gained some crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the hair at his temples had started to grey just a little. That was, of course, to say nothing of what had changed with me. For the first time in my life, I’d stopped being able to eat like a linebacker and still maintain my ballerina frame. There was no use denying it – in three years, I would be thirty. God, that felt fucking old.

Sensing my stare, Harry looked up. “What?”

Out of nowhere, I asked, “Aren’t you afraid that when we get married…it’ll never be like this anymore?”

“What do you mean, ‘like this?’” Harry asked with a frown.

“You know, just us,” I tried to explain.

“Well…sometimes it’ll be just us. Other times…” he left off with a shrug. I didn’t much fancy the idea of my life, my relationship, and later on my children, being public goods. Harry knew where I was going with this without my having to say anything more. “I guess it’s easier for me. I’ve never been just me. Even when things are supposed to be kept private, they never are.”

“And this is supposed to convince me?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just trying to be honest,” Harry answered.

I thought of all the things Harry had been exposed by in the media; the pot smoking, the Nazi uniform, the Vegas pictures, the drug addiction. I thought of all of the skeletons that had been torn from _my_ closet; the Foxy Roxy pictures, my dad leaving, my family’s economic standing. What else would the future hold? What other dirt would be splashed about the tabloids for everyone to see?

Finally breaking the silence, Harry got up from the overstuffed armchair he was sitting in and crossed the room to kneel down in front of me. Placing his hands on my knees, I could feel the heat of his palms through my jeans. It warmed me all over, like a magic spell. With his blue eyes as clear as a cloudless sky, he asked, “What are you afraid of?”

My mouth felt like sandpaper as I slowly answered, actually answering the question out loud for the first time. “I’m afraid of wearing the wrong shoes, or not curtseying to the right people. I’m afraid of not being able to have kids and letting down an entire country, and the people who I love the most. I’m afraid of being forty, and people still think I’m Jersey trash, and I’m doing laundry and changing diapers, and you’re out doing official events, and enjoying it, and people are in your ear, telling you that you could have done better, and you start to believe it. And I’m at home, wiping noses and making snacks, wishing every day that I’d never given up my passion, my career, my whole _life_. And I’m resenting you, and our children, and our life together, and I’m stuck alone.”

Harry was quiet for a long time, letting my long-winded answer absorb. “It’s our parents.”

“What?”

“It’s our parents. You’re afraid of becoming a combination of your father and my mother.” Squeezing my thighs gently, Harry went on. “Listen, Fox,” he started, which made my hopes soar. He hadn’t used his pet name for me in a long time. “I know marriage is…huge. And sometimes it’s scary, probably even more so when you’re getting married to me. But you’re worried about things that _might_ happen _years_ from now. I’m not saying our marriage is going to be all butterflies and rainbows all of the time. We’re going to have problems and we’re going to go through rough times. But we’ll work through them, the same way we’ve worked through every problem we’ve had since we first met. _Together_.”

Well…that sounded nice. Leaning forward, I planted a soft kiss on Harry’s lips. When I pulled away, I looked down into my lap and murmured, “Bianca says you’re going to give me an ultimatum.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I sort of thought I already had.”

“What?” I asked, shocked, my voice breaking.

“Well…you can’t expect us to go on like this forever,” Harry explained.

“I thought you’d rather be miserable with me than without me!“

“I would, but I’m not sure that’s what’s best for either of us."

"I thought we would work though our problems together!”

“We will. The solution to this problem might just be…” For the second time in less than five minutes, Harry didn’t finish his sentence in order to avoid saying a truth we’d both rather not hear.

Placing my hands on his shoulder, I earnestly vowed, “That will _never_ be my solution.”

Harry smiled and rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “So why would that be any different once we’re married?”

Like so many times when I was having this discussion with him, he left me stumped.

***

Looking back on it now, how nervous I’d been to get an offer from the RBC seven years ago seemed silly. My relationship with the headmistress of the RBA, Madam Fugere, and the director of the company, Monsieur Reims, had always been close, if not a bit…tumultuous. In the beginning, they’d questioned my commitment to school, fearing that I was more interested in chasing Harry. Whatever their doubts, the two of them had remained fiercely loyal in my hours of need. The only times they ever spoke to the press were to request privacy for me and their other dancers, and if they so much as suspected another company member of selling a story, the dancer was put on unpaid leave for two weeks. This had only happened once or twice in the beginning of my professional career there. It didn’t take long to get the message. 

Regardless of however much they’d questioned my desire to be a ballet dancer when I’d been a student, the two of them treated me with nothing but kindness and respect now. Of course, Madam and Monsieur weren’t stupid. Since I’d started dancing there, ticket sales had skyrocketed. People would wait outside after shows en masse to get a glimpse of the girl who’d won Prince Harry’s heart – the next would-be Duchess of York. Little girls called me the Ballerina Princess. American girls told me they liked me best, more than Kate (which, in my opinion, was a terrible choice). Having me in the company was beneficial to everyone involved. At the time, everyone had tried to assure me that I’d get an offer from RBC because my name meant money, but I knew that my name could only take me so far. Maybe there were other dance companies out there that would give me an offer based on my face value alone, but the RBC was not one of them. They couldn’t exactly hide that I was one of them, but the company certainly never did anything to promote it, no doubt thinking it was cheap and classless.

So on the night of my twenty-seventh birthday, Madam and Monsieur hadn’t publicized anything. They’d simply printed an announcement in the program. _The Royal Ballet Company wishes principal dancer, Roxanna DeLaSearle, a very happy birthday!_ I looked up at Madam from where I’d been grinning down at the program. “Aw, thank you Madam.”

“It is our pleasure, Roxanna,” she beamed at me, and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll leave you to get ready.” She turned to exit my dressing room, but paused at the door. Slowly, she faced me again and took a deep breath. “Roxanna…” It sounded like she had a question, but she never finished it.

“ _Oui, Madam_ ,” I frowned, encouraging her to go on.

She stood there for a moment, contemplating what she was going to say. Finally, and very slowly, she started, “You have had…a lovely time with us here. And…and I wouldn’t want you to…to feel as though you would be letting me down if you chose to leave.”

I gulped down the bubble in my throat before nodding and quietly thanking her. “ _Merci, Madam_.” 

With a tight-lipped smile, Madam nodded and shut the door. Great, even Madam was getting on me to let Harry pop the question. Blowing out a puff of air, I turned around and started doing my make up. While I did, I flicked on the flat screen in my dressing room for some background noise. “And here at E! International, we wish Roxanna DeLaSearle, longtime girlfriend of Prince Harry, a happy twenty-seventh birthday. But for all of you who put your money on today in the engagement pool, you’ve lost out!” the reporter informed any potential betters.

Rolling my eyes, I continued brushing blush onto my cheeks. “So what do you make of this now?” she asked the man beside her. “Is it unusual, do you think? Or is this sort of becoming the norm for the royals? The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge weren’t engaged until they were twenty-eight,” she reminded everyone.

“Right you are, Rebecca,” her co-host replied. “But I still have a good feeling about this being the year for Roxy and Harry. Something about the timing just seems right. We also know that Harry has already announced that he’ll retire from the armed services at the end of the year, which leads me to believe that there will be an engagement announcement soon.”

“ _And_ we have it on _very_ good authority that the Her Majesty the Queen has given Harry her full blessing,” Rebecca pointed out. “Palace insiders say that the Queen has been encouraging Harry to pop the question for ages, during a time when the monarchy is at a peak in popularity.”

Hm…well, that was true. I knew that Harry’s gran was twisting his arm. She wasn’t putting pressure on him or anything, but after I’d accepted my spot at the RBC, she had assured both of us that we only had to say the word, and she would heartily give her consent. She also, however, respected the fact that I highly valued my career, and she understood that even more so than her own grandson. I wasn’t sure how E! International had gotten this information, but they had somehow, which slightly annoyed me. 

“Someone _not_ so thrilled about the rumored nuptials is Prince Harry’s step-mother, the Duchess of Cornwall. The Duchess is said to be rather vocal about her dislike for Roxanna, who comes from a working-class family in New Jersey, just outside of New York City.”

That was true, too, although these television presenters were putting it far more nicely than I would have. Camilla hated my breathing guts. To her, I was Fran Drescher, or Snookie – a classless girl trying to marry up, looking for her fifteen minutes of fame, and taking advantage. This, however, had ceased to bother me. No one cared what Camilla thought, least of all me, and the feelings she had towards me were entirely mutual. The important people all liked me – Harry’s grandparents, his father, and his brother and sister-in-law. Prince Charles called Kate “my darling daughter” and, over the years, I had become, “my sweet Roxanna.” He was probably the closest thing to a father that I had. When Harry had been deployed, he’d insisted that I be made a part of the process as the rest of the family would be, and checked up on me constantly. He was a warm, loving man (although some people, including my mother, remained unconvinced of that truth).

“Well, it certainly will be interesting to see what transpires,” Rebecca summed up my romantic life, and I had to agree.

***

Pippa had set up an after party for me when the show was over that night. I didn’t go out much anymore, but it was a special occasion. The paparazzi, tipped off by someone who had probably seen everyone I’d ever known in the same place, were standing outside the bar, waiting for me. “Happy Birthday, Roxy!” “Roxy, where’s the ring?” “Have you set a date, Roxy?” It took everything in me not to scream at them that I wasn’t engaged. Didn’t these people watch E! International?

When I walked into the bar, there was a huge banner over the taps that read, in bold, pink letters, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROXY!” I smiled as everyone applauded my entrance – I wasn’t sure why. Waving to the faces I recognized, I made my way into the crowd and to the bar. I was making small talk with acquaintances, mostly Willi and Harry’s friends, when someone came up behind me and threw their arms around me. “Happy birthday Roxy!” Pippa squealed.

Whipping around, I hugged her back. “Thanks!” Behind her, I saw Will and Kate, and Piers and Bianca. I was glad Pippa was there solo, since the couples made me miss my other half, and the missing him made me think that if we were married he’d be retired already and wouldn’t be away for work and he’d be here and I wouldn't _have_ to miss him…and so on and so on. “Hey guys!” I greeted them all. 

“You ladies chat, Wills and I will get the drinks,” Piers volunteered them, and the men made for the bar. As soon as it was just the girls, an awkward silence settled in between us. My three best friends in the entire world knew what this birthday was, and they knew how I felt about it. Finally, to address the elephant in the room, Pippa spoke up, “So. Roxy. What are your plans now?”

Wholly unprepared to answer this question, I opened and closed my mouth stupidly, in an imitation of a trout. Thankfully, Kate saved me. “Pippa, you know she can’t talk about that here,” she reminded her sister, giving her a light smack on the shoulder.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Pippa shrugged. She scanned the crowd and pointed across the way. “You’re boring me to death. I’m gonna see if anyone wants to do shots,” she smirked, and made her exit. 

Kate rolled her eyes before waving a hand. “All right, no marriage-talk tonight. It’s your birthday!” she reminded me.

“I know. God, I’m old,” I noted. “You have a kid, you’re married,” I pointed to her and then Bianca.

“And you’re…” Bianca prompted me.

I was going to respond and tell her that I was perfectly content where I was, thank you _very_ much, but Piers returned, handing Bianca her drink. “So Roxy, twenty-seven. That’s a big year. How do you feel?”

With a tense smile, I told Piers that I had no idea how to answer that question. 

The party was awesome, like all of Pippa’s parties. She’d rented a karaoke machine, and she, B, and I wasted no time after our initial buzz to perform “Wannabe,” our specialty. Kate usually joined in when it was just us, but she (understandably) didn’t want cell phone shots on the cover of _The Daily Mail_ of her pretending to be Sporty Spice. Piers got in on the action, too, letting me know that Harry had instructed him to sing “Tiny Dancer” to me on his behalf. At one point, he planted a smack of a kiss on my cheek and I tilted my head back in laughter. Pippa and I joined him back up on the stage for the second half of the song, and the whole bar sang along. Someone snapped a picture that was on the cover of the _Mail_ the next day. _Roxy Rocks the Party!_ the headline shouted. (They really couldn’t help themselves trying to make puns with my name in them. Every time there were rumors of a break up, it was always _Roxy and Harry on the Rocks!_ or something equally lame.) _No settling down soon for her!_ And when I picked it up and looked at the picture, saw how happy I was to be surrounded with my best friends, singing karaoke, and how sad it made me to know that it would all have to end, I thought maybe they were right.


	111. The King's Pep Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I figured that, since I was actually twenty-seven now, there was no more putting it off – I had to do _something_ about my marriage denial. After taking verbal lickings from Bianca, Marcus, Kate, and Pippa, let alone Harry, I decided that what Pippa had said at B’s wedding was right – if anyone could talk me down from this ledge, it was William. The only time I could think of to speak with him when Harry wasn’t right across the street was during the day, when Harry was out at some event and I was between conditioning and show time. “Hey, it’s me. Can I come over for a bit this afternoon while Kate’s at The Art Room?” The Art Room was one of Kate’s patronages, and the two of them didn’t like to do many events together because they liked at least one of them to be home with Georgie.

“Sure, what’s up?” William asked, probably noticing that I clearly wanted to speak with him in confidence.

“Just some stuff,” I told him vaguely. “I’ll tell you later.” When I hung up, I pulled on some regular clothes over my practice leotard and grabbed my car keys. For my first few years in London, I hadn't needed a car. I lived in the city and there was tons of public transportation, not to mention that I was afraid to drive on the wrong side of the road. When Harry and I started dating, I used to love taking the tube or the busses because I could just disappear into the crowd. After several pictures of me on various trains and busses had been published, however, I’d decided to take some driving lessons and buy myself a Volkswagon. It didn’t seem safe for people to be able to track where I’d be at any given moment. They did enough of that when I was on my own two feet.

I drove to KP and flashed my pass at the guards, who opened the gates for me. Outside in the park while I waited for them to open all the way, a few people took cell phone shots of me and I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes. I was just sitting in my car! Who wanted a picture of that? 

When I rang the doorbell of 1A I heard a loud squeal, footsteps pounding down the front hall, and sure enough when the door opened, Georgie was behind it. On his mouth was a huge smile and a ring of chocolate pudding. “Rossy!” he announced, throwing his arms around my leg. Kate always told me that I shouldn’t pick him up too much because it would spoil him, and then he’d get used to it and he wouldn’t go anywhere himself. So when Kate was around, I didn’t...but most of the time I couldn’t resist picking him up and kissing him all over his chubby little face, which is what I did now.

“GCIII!” I kissed his pudgy cheeks. “You look like Tom Selleck!”

Georgie cackled with laughter, even though he had no idea what I’d just said. As we walked down the long hallway from the front door to one of several rooms in the apartment, Georgie filled me in on all of his plans for the day. “Grandad’s coming over, and we’re going to go to the lake with Lupo and feed the duckies and he’s going to push me so high on the swings!”

“Oh really?” I asked. 

Right as I entered the living room, so did William, holding a Transformer. “G, I think Optimus Prime is just going to have to wait until Mummy comes home to…transform. Oh, hey Rox.”

“Hey Will. Sweet Transfomer,” I smirked. “Why’s your dad watching him?”

“I assumed you wanted to talk about Harry, and that would be easier without a three-year-old running around,” he guessed correctly.

“Aren’t most things easier without a three-year-old running around?”

“Most,” William agreed with a nod. “I’d venture to say all.”

Bored of our conversation about him, George wriggled out of my arms and marched over to his dad, hand open. “ _Mine_!”

Squatting down so that he was eye to eye with his son, William asked, “George, if you want the toy, how do you ask nicely?”

Sheepishly, embarrassed of getting reprimanded in front of someone, Georgie mumbled, “Can I have Optimus Prime please Daddy?” As he asked, he looked up at him through his impossibly long eyelashes, his brown eyes wide. 

My heart melted, and I figured William’s did, too, because he wrapped Georgie up in a huge hug. Georgie tried to squirm away as his dad hugged him tight, kissing him all over his head and tickling him at the same time. Finally, he handed over the action figure, just as the front door opened. “Wills?” I heard Charles call from the front hall.

“Back here, Pa!”

Charles appeared in the living room and Georgie ran up to him, thrusting Optimus Prime, who was still in his automobile form, up so he could see it. “Grandad, do you know how to make him into a real guy?”

Making an expression like he was thinking hard on this, Charles confessed, “You know, I don’t, but let’s see if we can’t figure it out.”

“Bye, Daddy!” George called as Charles took him, one hand holding George’s, the other Lupo’s leash, across the gravel drive to his own apartment.

“Bye G! Daddy loves you!” William and Catherine were never ever too busy to remind Gerogie of this, and they liked to say it as much as possible. When Charles and George were gone, Will turned to me. “Do you want some tea?”

“Sure,” I agreed, and he put the kettle on as I flopped onto his couch. As soon as I did, I let out a yelp of pain before pulling a firetruck out of the cushions. The Cambridges had staff at KP who could do things like make their tea and clean George’s toys up, but the two of them liked to try and take care of it themselves, as much as they could. They weren’t always 100% successful, but neither was any other parent of a small child.

When William handed me my mug of steaming tea, he shook his head. “I’ve got to call someone to clean this place. Catherine keeps saying she’ll do it, but she doesn’t have the time.”

“Why don’t you do it?” I raised an eyebrow.

William smirked and then shrugged. “Well, now I’ve got to talk to you. And later I’ve got…you know, things to do.”

“Ah, I see,” I nodded, sipping my tea. 

Chuckling, William sat down in a chair across from me. “So, I take it this is about my brother?”

“Well you’re not wrong,” I confirmed. “I guess…I guess he told you the plan we made a few years back.”

William put his hands up to silence me. “When Harry came back from Afghanistan seven years ago, the two of you made an agreement that you would both retire when you turned twenty-seven so that you could get engaged, married, and have children by the time you were thirty. You’ve just turned twenty-seven and as it turns out, you’re not ready to get married just yet.” Before I could stop gawking at him like a fish, he confessed, “Harry and I have had quite a few conversations about it already.”

_Great._ Blushing, I nodded. “Then I guess he’s told you about why I don’t want to get married just yet?”

“Actually, he hasn’t,” William admitted, his brow furrowed.

“ _What_?” Well that didn’t seem fair! Harry wasn’t telling my side of the story at all!

“He’s told me what you’ve told him – that you’re not ready to give up dancing yet, or something like that. But that doesn’t seem like it to me.”

Slowly, I asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean I think there’s another reason you don’t want to get married, something you’re not saying.” He considered this for a moment, sipping his tea. Instead of responding, I looked down at my hands, twisting them inside one another. After a while of me being silent and uncomfortably squirming, William pressed on. “It does have soething to do with dancing, right? But there's some part of it you're leaving out." Watching someone try to figure out what was in my head was extremely unsettling. This had never been necessary before - I expressed my opionions a little bit too much, usually. The only other person who had tried to work things out of me was Dr. R, and he was a professional. William was just...William. "Hm...maybe it’s about the fact that every time something you’re afraid of happens, you go to ballet; like your parents, or Grace, or Harry.” My breath was stuck half way in my throat. Maybe some of Dr. R's professionalism was rubbing off on William. “So now, you’re afraid to get married, and you’re doing what you’ve always done – hiding behind ballet, where you’re literally hiding in a character. It’s your security blanket, and Harry’s asking you to give it up, which you think is a huge problem because you use ballet as a bandage for more or less everything in your life. So now you’re afraid that if you pull that bandage off, you won’t have anything to hide behind. You’ll just be walking around with gross gaping wounds and then Harry won’t love you any more.”

Blinking the tears out of my eyes, I cleared my throat before asking, “Just how many conversations about this have you and Harry had?”

Shrugging with a satisfied smirk, William confessed, “Most of that was actually Catherine.”

“Well…what else does she say about that?” And why hadn’t she said any of it to me?

“Mostly she says that you’re afraid because you rely on ballet.”

“I do rely on ballet!” I finally shouted, not liking the way that it felt like a confession. “And now you’re asking me to rely on a person who hasn’t always been the most reliable!”

William waved a hand. “Come on, Roxy. When was the last time Harry was unreliable? Ten years ago? And even if he _isn’t_ as reliable as ballet or a studio it’s because he’s a _person_ , not an activity, or a place. You can dance any time you want, and be good at it, and make it look beautiful, and if you _don’t_ feel like doing it, you can take a break. Now, you can’t go on holiday from a relationship, but you worked hard to become that perfect dancer, and to be as good as you are, and if you work that hard on your relationship, then it can be as fun and as beautiful as you want it to be.”  
“What if he doesn’t want to put that much work into it? What if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, then what are you doing here? If you don’t want to put in the effort, then you wouldn’t still be together. You two have been through a drug addiction, two deployments, countless world tours, and a break up. You already _have_ put the work into it, and you’re doing it right now by having this conversation with me,” he pointed out.

I was quiet for a minute as I looked back down in my lap, where I was wringing my hands. “Pippa said…at Bianca’s wedding she said that courage wasn’t my strong suit.”

William raised his eyebrows. “Did she?”

Unsatisfied, I pressed on, “Do you agree with her?”

I could tell I’d put him in a bad spot as William sipped his tea and then slowly took a deep breath in, trying to figure out a way to answer this question. “I think you’ve got loads of good qualities!” When I groaned, William laughed and continued. “I don’t think you’re a coward. People handle situations differently, and I think that when you’re faced with something that makes you uncomfortable or tense, you tend to not deal with it until the last possible second. By now I should hope that you’ve learned that maybe it’s not the best way to deal with your problems.” 

It was impossible to hear William remind me of these things and not be transported back to those times in my life – when I was eighteen and Kate was trying to tell me that Harry was slipping down the rabbit hole; a year later as I watched Bianca waste away into practically nothing until she was in the hospital; trying not to go back to Harry; trying not to go back to any of it. I reached over and plucked a tissue from the box on the table in front of me. “Well if it’s so easy then how come it took you so long to do it?” I asked, sounding more accusatory than I meant to.

“Easy?” William cocked an eyebrow. “Who said anything about easy? I just said you’d have to work on it. That’s not easy, and deciding that you want to work on it isn’t easy, either. It’s a process – it takes time, _years_ to decide that. But once I made that decision, I knew what came next, and I think you do, too.”

I was about to counter this argument. I _didn’t_ know what came next. I _didn’t_ know why marriage was the next logical step. Before I could say any of this, however, the apartment door burst back open and George came screaming in. “Daddy! Daddy!” he giggled at an ear-deafening pitch. When he appeared in front of us, I saw that he and Lupo were both soaking wet.

“George! What happened?” William asked, standing up before he could jump into his lap. 

Charles followed George. “Lupo went chasing after some ducks and he was holding the leash,” he explained.

George laughed some more, jumping up and down, presumably so that we could have a better look at his sopping clothes. “Lupo tried to get the duckies, Daddy!” he laughed.

William rolled his eyes. “All right, don’t touch anything. Grandad will help you get changed.”

Desperate for an escape from our conversation, I offered, “I’ll take him.”

“Rossy!” George exclaimed, taking my hand and leading me back to his bedroom before Will or Charles could disagree.

“Okay G Money, get in the tub. You’re gonna need a bath before we get some new clothes on you,” I told him. He stripped down while I ran the tub for him. “Did you have fun feeding the ducks?” I asked, squirting shampoo into my hand and rubbing it into his sandy blonde hair. While I bathed him, Georgie told me all about his duck-feeding outing with his granddad, while dunking Optimus Prime under the water and then lifting him out. He kept chatting away as I wrapped him in a plush navy towel and re-dressed him, blowing raspberries on his belly while he squealed with giggles. I turned around, offering him a piggy-back ride and brought him back down to the sitting room, where Charles and Will were talking.   
“Rossy, wanna play Transformers with me?” Georgie asked.

My heart gave a violent wrench. “I wish I could, but I have to get back to work,” I told him. 

Disappointed, George nodded before clinging to my leg and giving me a hug. “I love you, Rossy.”

“I love you, too, Gorgeous George,” I told him, ruffling his damp hair. Then I had to leave, before I could be hypnotized by George’s adorableness into changing my mind.  
When I got back into my car, I pulled the door closed and let out a breath, resting my head back against the seat. William’s pep talk didn’t wholly convince me that I was ready to be joined together with Harry in holy matrimony, but it did make me feel a little better. At least we'd gotten to the root cause of my reluctance, and William had been able to vocalize what I already knew, which was that I was kind of being ridiculous. With a somewhat satisfied sigh, I turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of KP.

It took a while before I realized that I was being followed. There was a black car behind me; some vague, unrecognizable make and model. I could just make out two figures in the front seats, one holding up the unmistakable silhouette of a telephoto lens. “Shit.” This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it always creeped me out. Once or twice, when it had happened to Kate pre-marriage, she’d gotten out of the car and appealed to the photographers. Someone was going to get hurt! But I didn’t have the patience for that.

As we rounded Picadilly, I cut down a street, turning a sharp left. It was no use – the car still followed me. _Damn…_ Looking in my rearview mirror, I cut another sharp turn to no avail. Figuring that they probably thought I was on my way home, I decided to head out onto the interstate. There was a small chance that they’d either become uninterested or decide it wasn’t worth the effort. 

This didn’t work, either. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Now that we were on the highway, however, I could pick up some speed. My Jetta wasn’t exactly built for drag racing, but as I stomped down on the pedal she jerked into life. Whatever car was following me was apparently built for drag racing. It pulled out behind me and then swooped right into place in front of me. Our bumpers were nearly kissing as the photographer turned around and snapped a picture. I blinked in the blinding light before pressing down on the break.

It felt like a brick had been thrown at my spine. My head flew forward. I didn’t have time to register the pain – just heard the sickening smack of my skull on the steering wheel before everything went black.


	112. Decisions, Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_Oh…fuck…_

Before I even opened my eyes, I could taste blood. “Shit.” It hurt to talk, but hurt more to try and spit out the blood that had pooled in my mouth. Slowly, I tried to lift my head, realizing that it was on something soft. When I blinked and leaned back, I noticed that there was blood in my eyes and that the airbag had burst out from the dash.

“Miss? Miss DeLaSearle? Can you hear me?”

Shaking my head, I squinted my eyes open. Fuck, it was bright. Who was talking to me? And was I under water? What the fuck was going on? Why did my body feel split in two?

“Miss DeLaSearle! Can you hear me?”

Painfully, I swallowed down some blood and tried to nod.

“Don’t move! I’ve called an ambulance. It’ll be here any minute now!”

_Just let it get here before the news cameras_ , I hoped desperately.

Instantly, I heard the scream of an ambulance siren. It felt like life had been on pause and now it was going on double speed. I’d been in an accident, trying to get away from the paparazzi. They’d sped up to cut me off, and I’d stopped short before getting rear-ended. Who ever had hit me was probably scared shitless…if they were okay. _Oh Jesus, please let everyone be okay…_

“Miss DeLaSearle, can you move?” one of the EMTs asked.

Finally, I regained my awareness and my voice. I swallowed, getting another mouthful of blood, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay!” I shouted through the window.

The car door opened and a man in a blue jumpsuit appeared before me. “Sit right there, miss,” he instructed, holding a small flashlight and shining it into my eyes. “No concussion. You’re gonna need some stitches, though. Looks like the airbag popped you good on the nose, too.”

“The other car, the one that hit me…” I tried to ask, but the asking hurt.

“Poor bloke’s scared to death, reckons Prince ‘arry’ll ‘ave ‘is ‘ead.”

“He’s okay?”

“Righ’ as rain.”

“There was another car…photographers.”

“So we’ve ‘eard. You’ve got a good ‘alf-dozen witnesses. Don’t reckon ‘is Royal ‘ighness’ll be too pleased about that.” During this brief conversation, the EMT had checked my eyes for a concussion, gotten my pulse, blood pressure, and all my vital signs. “We’re gonna have to get you to ‘ospital for that broken nose. And you’re gonna need stitches, miss. You’ve got quite a gash on your forehead. I reckon a couple broken ribs as well.”

I reached up along my hairline and could feel the blood gushing under my fingertips. Gross!

There was a bright pop and the EMT swore under his breath. “These people. Gotta be fucking joking.” 

Another man in a navy jump-suit joined us. I heard the helicopter trying to get footage above us as the two EMTs ushered me into the ambulance. On the way to the hospital, one of the EMTs asked the other, “You think they’ve notified Harry?”

“I’m sure they ‘ave,” the other one answered. “I just ‘ope ‘e goes to ‘ospital, not the crash site, else those photographers are as good as dead.”

***

“It was nothing, Mom. I’m fine, really.”

“You have a broken nose, _three_ broken ribs, _and_ you had to get _nine_ stitches! That doesn’t sound fine to me!”

“I’m _fine_ ,” I repeated.

“ _This_ time,” my mom pointed out. “ _This_ time you’re fine.”

There was a roar outside my window of people shouting and I knew exactly what had just happened. “Mom, I gotta go.”

“Roxy!”

“Harry just got here, Ma, and somebody might get killed if he gets his hands on them.”

“Maybe somebody deserves it,” she muttered before I quickly hung up my phone, wincing from the pain that shot up through my ribcage with every lean and bend. 

Before I could mentally prepare myself, Harry blew into my room like a hurricane. His cheeks were splotched with red and his hair was a mess from running his hands through it so much. Stabbing a finger down on the padded table I was sitting on, he demanded, “I want to find out who did this, and I want to sue them for _everything_ they have! I want them living on the _streets_ by the time I’m through with them!”

“Harry, calm down.”

“Calm _down_? CALM _DOWN_?” he shouted. If other people in the hospital hadn’t already been staring at the prince and his banged up girlfriend, they certainly were now. Quietly and obviously terrified, a nurse came in and closed the curtains. “How can you tell me to calm down at a time like this? Look at you!”

“Well, thank you for the compliment,” I said sarcastically before trying to smile. Given my broken nose, it was more like a grimace.

“Don’t you _dare_ make a joke right now!” he warned me.

I took a deep breath, feeling like my body was being torn in half. “Harry, I’m _fine_. Most of this is from the airbag!”

“You’re practically in pieces!”

Okay, the dramatics (and sharp pains all over my body) were starting to piss me off. “I have a broken nose, a cut, and some broken ribs. Harry, I’m _fine_. And you’re not the one who has to walk around looking like you got punched in the face for the next two weeks, so I’d appreciate it if you calmed the fuck down.”

With a sharp inhale, Harry again ran his hands through his hair and collapsed into a chair near the window. “This is…” Eventually, he shook his head and his faced turned from splotchy and red to paper white. “This is unacceptable, Roxy.”

Nodding, I told him, “I agree.”

“ _This_ is what I’m talking about. You need RPOs, you need _protection_.”

I was trying to figure out a nice way to point out to him that his mother had security that night in the tunnel, and it hadn’t helped much, when a doctor entered the room, holding my file. He was so busy reading over my chart that he didn’t notice Harry, and if he did I don’t think the on-call ER doctor would have shown shock at anything, much less a person who wasn’t bleeding or sick. “Okay, Miss DeLaSearle, it looks like the x-rays have confirmed the broken ribs, and the MRI doesn’t show any internal bleeding, so you’re fine to be discharged after I write you this script for a pain killer. Is codine okay? Or do you prefer vicodin? Oxycodone?” Chuckling, and only half-joking, he offered, “A prescription for medical marijuana?”

“Doctor, I can’t have any opiates,” I told him.

The doctor nodded, again not shocked to her this. “Recovering?” he assumed.

“Um…not me. My boyfriend.”

From the corner of the room, Harry cleared his throat. The doctor looked form him to me, which was about the only time he’d looked at me since I’d entered the hospital. “ _Oh_ , you’re _that_ Roxy. Should have known. Not a very common name now, is it?”

Shaking my head, I smiled. “No, I don’t believe it is.”

Going back to his pad, the doctor scribbled out a prescription for me. “Suit yourself. This doesn’t work half as well as the other stuff, but it’s your choice.”

“Give her the codine,” Harry interjected.

“What? Harry, no way,” I argued. Something about keeping very strong pain killers around my recovering addict boyfriend made me feel extremely uncomfortable. My brain suddenly flashed back to nine years ago, when I’d opened Harry’s bedside table drawer and found a plethora of orange bottles. Yeah, this wasn’t a good idea.

“Roxy, I’m almost ten years sober, and good luck getting any sleep with three broken ribs on non-opiate pain medication. As someone who’s been on both, I’m telling you, the codine is better.”

“Harry, I’m not keeping opiates in my purse or my apartment, or _your_ apartment, for that matter. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

The doctor cleared his throat to remind us that he was a busy man and had more important things to do than listen to us argue.

“She’ll take the codine,” Harry told the doctor, and he wrote out the script before I could insist otherwise.

***

“It wasn’t a tunnel this time, but a highway, that sent the royal family into a panic after Prince Harry’s long-time girlfriend, Royal Ballet dancer Roxanna DeLaSearle was involved in a two-car collision. Once again, it was a crash caused by a woman trying to escape photographers, in the sort of accident that is all too familiar for the Windsor clan. In a scathing press release put out by the Royal Ballet Company, they state: ‘The Royal Ballet Company would like to remind all members of the press that the feet of their dancers are all insured, and that anyone who brings physical harm to these dancers and/or their feet will be faced with legal action.’ That, of course, was nothing compared to the statement released by Clarence House and the Princes Office. ‘Prince Harry and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were infuriated to learn that a friend of theirs, a private citizen, had been in a car accident caused by the paparazzi. They wish to remind everyone of the late Princess of Wales, and remain perplexed as to how something like this could happen, given her fate. Prince Harry and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge are certain that the photographer will be found, and charges will be brought forthwith for reckless endangerment and invasion of privacy.’”

Flicking off the TV, I turned to Harry, brushing a messy wisp of rusty hair off his forehead. He’d silently fumed on the way home from the hospital, and I was thankful that there was no more shouting. My head was pounding, and I didn’t want any more loud noises. That had lasted for about five minutes, because as soon as we got to the apartment, Harry had called William, who answered the phone already hollering. Even I could hear him shouting into Harry’s ear, threatening to sue everyone and anyone involved in the crash. Finally, with no more yelling, and the TV off, I gently asked, “How are you?” 

“How am _I_?” Harry blinked. “I’m not the one who was just in an accident. How are _you_?”

“Fine. The drugs have kicked in and I can hardly feel my face, let alone my ribcage.” Harry chuckled against his will. It was true, I felt completely fine. I was less worried about my broken bones than I was about the fact that I had extremely potent opiates on the other side of Harry’s bedroom door. I’d given them to a member of the staff with strict orders _not_ to let Harry have them, under any circumstance, and to notify me immediately if he was asking for them. With a terrified look, the young girl in the red jacket had agreed. “So let me ask you again – how are you?”

Sighing slowly, Harry looked down. His eyes didn’t meet mine as he answered me. “Roxy, when they called me and told me there had been an accident…I swear, I was eleven-years-old again.”

“That must have been awful. I’m so sorry, my love.” I placed my soft palm against Harry’s scruffy cheek. He finally looked up at me. I very rarely used terms of endearment. They just sounded ridiculous coming out of my mouth, and I hated the way couples always called each other “baby.” Most of the time, if I wanted to be sweet I just used my nickname for Harry – Spice.

Harry reached up and took my hand, kissing my fingers. “Part of the reason Will broke up with Catherine was because he kept having these nightmares, that it was her in the tunnel that night instead of my mother.” My heart ached. Apparently, that was the one thing the codine couldn’t stop me from feeling. “I’ve never had to worry about you, Roxy. I’ve never had to worry about if you were safe, or hurt. Or at least, I’ve had to far less than you’ve had to worry about me. You’ve handled it all so coolly. You haven’t gotten upset about any of it, not once.”

“That’s not true,” I corrected him.

“Well, not for a long time, at least.” The last time I could remember being upset by something the paparazzi had done was when they’d tailed Bianca, reporting on her eating disorder seven years ago. That had really hurt, but Harry was right, it was a long time ago. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life afraid that I’m going to get another one of those phone calls.”

It was then that I felt something that I hadn’t felt for a long, long time. When Harry and I had first met, had first started dating, before we’d slept together for the first time, we’d discussed the multiple ways in which our parents had fucked us up. Harry had told me all about losing his mother, and how it had affected the rest of his life. I hadn’t known it then, and I hadn’t expressed it in words, but the truth was that I felt so, so _sorry_. Deep into the insides of my bones, down in my stomach, in every cell in my body and all over my skin, I felt sorry. I was sorry, deeply, _deeply_ sorry that Harry’s mother had been taken from him. I was sorry that it still caused him so much pain. I was sorry that he had the sort of life where he had to worry about that happening. I was sorry that he had to worry about it happening to me, today. And most of all I was sorry that nothing I could do or say could make that worry go away. Kissing him softly up by his hairline, I murmured, “Should you go to a meeting?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Harry, if you have take a meeting for an hour, I’ll survive. I’ll probably just pass out.”

“No,” he insisted with another headshake. “I’m fine. I’ll just call Dr. R tomorrow.” Dr. Rosenblum had been treating Harry for nearly ten years. He had relocated his entire life to treat Harry, and Harry made this entirely financially possible. For the first two years, Dr. R had done this in complete secrecy, until the press caught one of Harry’s RPOs leaving a pharmacy with the doctor, on an errand for a script for Harry, and the secret had come out. William and Harry had cut a deal with the doctor – that he was allowed to publish an academic case study on Harry without naming him after ten years, or using his name if the secret came out, which it had. So for the past ten years, the doctor had been working on the study. Harry didn’t fancy himself a lab rat, but he and the doctor had such a strong, important relationship that he didn’t mind. At first Harry had spent nearly every waking moment with Dr. R. Over the years, that time got cut down and down. By now, Harry only had sessions with the doctor about once every three months, so if he felt like he had to go see him, it was pretty serious. 

Suddenly feeling every ache in my body, I asked, “And you’re _sure_ you don’t have to go to a meeting?”

“Roxy,” Harry looked me dead in the eye. “I’m sure.”

Sighing, I agreed, “Well, if you’re sure.” I tucked myself into Harry and shut my eyes. The exhaustion hit me almost instantly. The pain killers made my head feel all fuzzy, but I had to tell him something, and I needed to get it out before I fell asleep. “Let’s do it.”

Harry’s eyes blinked open. “What?”

“Get married. Let’s do it.”

Slowly, Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why are you on board all of a sudden?”

It wasn’t all of a sudden. I’d always been on board, and I resented Harry making it seem like I’d never had any intention of marrying him. But I didn’t have the strength to verbalize all that on all of these sweet meds. Ignoring him for the moment, I blinked up at him, feeling my eyes start to sting with tears. “Because…because what if something were to happen? Something worse than my accident today? I couldn’t stand the thought of…I wouldn’t want there to be any doubt about…how I feel about you.”

“Roxy,” Harry started, shaking his head.

I ignored his attempted interruption and kept talking. “I wouldn’t want you to think, ‘Oh, I think she loved me, but she wouldn’t marry me.’ And if something worse happened today, would my life be fulfilled? Would I have done everything I wanted to do? No, because I never got married to you, and I never had babies with you. If anything were to happen to me, I would only be happy if I knew that you could look at our little ginger babies and know that there was a part of me there with you.”

Harry’s mouth puckered like he was sucking on a lemon. He was silent for a long time before he finally assessed, “That’s quite morbid, Fox.”

“I was trying to be romantic!” I whined.

Laughing, Harry pointed out, “Well then maybe you shouldn’t say you want to get married because you’re afraid of dying!”

Giving him a drugged out shove, I accused, “Now I’m ready and all of a sudden you’re not!”

Chuckling, Harry assured me, “I _am_ ready. I’d just rather wait until you weren’t on massive amounts of codine to make sure that _you_ are.”

The drugs were taking over and I could hear my own voice growing thick with fatigue. “Okay, we’ll wait until tomorrow. But I’ll still want to marry you then.”

I stayed awake just long enough to hear Harry murmur, “We’ll see,” before I passed out.


	113. Welcome to the Church of England, Cake or Death?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“So!” Pippa jumped. “Then what happened?” She, Bianca, and Kate were on the edges of their seats. It was a week later and I was over at Pippa’s, telling them about the conversation Harry and I had when I got out of the hospital. 

I held my bare hands up to them. “Do you see a ring on these fingers?”

Kate let out an exasperated groan. “ _Don’t_ tell us you changed your mind _again_!”

Laughing, I shook my head and decided to put them out of their misery. “No! No, I didn’t change my mind. The next morning I woke him up and told him first thing that I was still on board.”

“Yes!” Pippa shouted, holding out her hands for high fives. Laughing, the girls and I all gave her one before she waved her glass of wine in the air above us. “Cheers girls!”

“Woah, woah, woah. Nothing’s official yet,” I reminded her. “Like I said, I still don’t have a ring.”

“Does he?” Bianca asked.

“He says he does,” I shrugged.

Kate nodded. “He does.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I slowly asked, “Have you seen it?” When she nodded with a smirk, I demanded, “Catherine Elizabeth Middleton! Spill, right now!”

She laughed. “I can’t! I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but believe me, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Not if that’s anything to go on you won’t,” Bianca gestured to Kate’s beautiful ring. 

“So what happens next? When will you announce?” Kate asked.

I shrugged. “He has to actually propose first.”

“You mean those other dozen times didn’t count?” Pippa smirked.

“Those other dozen times he wasn’t down on one knee,” I pointed out. “We’re thinking it’ll be after New Years. I’ll go home, spend my last Christmas with the family, and then we’ll meet up in Africa for New Years.”

“Africa?” Bianca scrunched up her nose. 

Laughing, Kate gave her a playful shove. “That’s where William proposed to me!” she reminded her.

“But think of the bugs,” Bianca shivered at the thought.

“For some reason, I don’t think Roxy and Harry will be staying in a tent in the wilderness,” Pippa nudged her with an elbow.

“Anyway,” I loudly interrupted their interjections. “We’ll announce after the New Year and look to have a spring wedding.”

Kate blanched. “A _spring_ wedding? You think you can pull a wedding together in five months?”

“You didn’t have much more time than that,” I reminded her. “Plus, less time planning means less time for secrets to leak.”

“Well that’s all true enough,” Bianca agreed, "but…what about your family?”

Lost, I asked, “What about my family?”

Bianca looked at the Middleton sisters, who both looked as confused as I did. “Roxy, you’re Catholic.”

It took everything in me not to laugh at Bianca’s absurd statement. “Catholic? I’m about as Catholic as the Pope is Jewish. I’ve never ascribed to any one religion. In fact, if I’m anything, I’m an ath-“

Kate leapt forward and clamped a hand over my mouth. “ _Don’t_ say it, Roxy. Not even here, not even just to us. Not even to yourself when you’re alone. _Don’t_ say it.”

As Kate slowly pulled her hand away from my mouth, I softly asked, “Why not?”

“It’s one thing to believe in a different God. It’s another to believe in _no_ God,” she warned me.

With the wave of a hand and an eye roll, I tried to assure the girls that my religion, or lack thereof, would not be a problem. “I’m not Catholic. I mean I was never baptized or anything.”

Pippa cringed. Before I could ask her what the problem with that was, Kate spoke up for her. “That’s the point, Rox. You could have been baptized in any other religion – you could be Jewish, or a Muslim, and it wouldn’t matter.”

“You say ‘Muslim’ like it’s the worst thing a person can be,” I narrowed my eyes at Kate.

“That’s not what I meant,” she told me, growing impatient. We weren’t having a conversation about being politically correct. Actually, our conversation was maybe the exact opposite. “I just meant that you could be any other religion in the world and, as long as you _were_ that religion, it wouldn’t matter.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So I guess you were a regular Mother Theresa before you met William.”

“Mother Theresa was a Catholic!” Pippa pointed out, unable to control her giggles at my religious ignorance.

Kate ignored her younger sister (as she often did), and answered me. “No, of course not. We went on all the major holidays, of course, which is what everyone usually does. Church of England isn’t really that strict,” she shrugged. “The point is that whatever we practiced, no matter how unenthusiastically, it wasn’t Catholicism.”

“And _I’ve_ never practiced it, either!”

“Roxy,” Bianca frowned, “you know that’s not true.”

This was really starting to piss me off. “Okay, yes, when I was little there were a handful of times when I went with my dad and my _abuela_ to church.”

“Then you should know by now that there’s a very high likelihood that it will come out, sooner or later,” Kate confirmed. “You’re going to have to convert.”

“No, no way,” I waved my hands down in front of me, like I was drawing a line, which I was. “This is ridiculous. I’m not Catholic, I’ve never _been_ Catholic, and I’m not joining some religion that some guy _made up_ because he wanted to fuck Anne Boelyn just so I can _prove_ that I’m not Catholic.”

“Well then you’re not going to marry Harry,” Kate shrugged. “Simple as that.”

“WHAT? This is _insane_!” I laughed. 

“Isn’t it?” Pippa agreed. “It’s just one of those things that never got changed, like the succession rules.” Up until Kate was ready to pop with George, the laws had not been changed so that a woman could inherit the throne. Right before she had, however, Parliament had abolished the law, which hadn’t really ended up mattering since she’d had a boy anyway. Still, the fact that the rule hadn’t been altered until 2013 was crazy to me. Some things about England were still so completely backwards. 

“And you’ll have to naturalize,” Bianca added. As she said this, Kate got up, disappeared into Pippa’s home office, and then reappeared moments later with a yellow notepad and a pen. To my horror, she scribbled, “To Do List For Roxy,” at the top, underlined it, and wrote, “Convert,” and then, “Citizenship,” before looking up with a satisfied smile. Kate loved making lists.

“Wait a minute, won’t I be granted citizenship once we’re married?” I pointed out.

“Oh yes, and I’m sure the country will be just _fine_ having Harry marry a Catholic American,” Pippa smirked.

Leaning forward, I rubbed the migraine that I was starting to pound between my eyes. “Can somebody please pass me the codine?”

***

I was going to head home after Pippa’s, but our discussion about my religion (or lack thereof) made me want to drop in on Harry. When he opened the door, he looked pleasantly surprised. With a huge grin, he wrapped me up in a tight hug, dipping me low like a kiss in an old movie. My heart fluttered, just as it had the first time Harry had done this ten years ago on a flight to Paris. It had been a long time since I’d gotten one of those kisses, but for the past couple of days since the accident, it was like Harry and I were young and newly in love all over again. It was sort of amazing - I didn’t think that relationships ever worked out like that, that you’d finally agree to agree and then everything would be perfect and amazing again. Apparently I’d been wrong. Harry and I were in just as much as a love bubble as we’d been when I was eighteen. “Hello darling,” he grinned, standing me upright.

“Hello you. Someone’s happy,” I noted, closing the door behind me.

“I am happy,” Harry agreed, taking both of my hands in both of his and walking us back into the apartment. I could tell from the smirk on his face and the glint in his eyes that he had a specific activity in mind for tonight. 

“Harry,” I said in a warning tone. “The last time we tried to do this it didn’t work out so well.” My ribs still ached in their attempt to heal themselves, and my eyes still made me look like a raccoon. We’d been trying to have sex for a while, but so far all of our attempts weren’t working out, and we’d exhausted all of our position options.

“If at first you don’t succeed,” Harry started off.

Laughing, I tilted my head back. “Fine, but if I start screaming it won’t be in the good way.”

Harry laughed, too, and pulled me into him, kissing my neck. After another failed and painful attempt at love making, we sat, unsatisfied, on his bed. “Damn,” Harry swore under his breath, lighting a cigarette. 

“Better luck next time,” I snickered, giving his knee a sympathetic pat. And then, remembering why I’d come over in the first place, I told him about what the girls had said at Pippa’s. “Kate even made a _list_ ,” I finished.

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “That sounds like Kate.”

“So do you think it’s going to be a big deal?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” he emphatically agreed. “They’re absolutely right about that.”

“ _What_?” I shrieked. “This is ridiculous!”

Just as enthusiastically, Harry agreed with this statement, too. “Correct. Ready to give up?” he asked, only half joking.

I shook my head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Wales. I haven’t even seen the ring yet.”

He laughed. “Ah. So that’s your deciding factor.”

“Pretty much.” Then, groaning, I rested my head on his shoulder. “I hate everything about everything.”

Kissing the top of my head, Harry asked, “Even me?”

I smiled up at him. “No. You’re the one thing I like right now.” He opened his mouth to respond, but I clamped my hand down before he could. “Don’t open your gob and ruin it now, Wales.”

“I won’t!” he promised in a muffled voice from under my hand. Slowly, I pulled my palm away with a skeptical expression. “I was just going to say that now that I know you’re serious, we need to start thinking about what comes next.” I started to protest Harry’s thinking that I wasn’t serious before this, but he covered my mouth this time. “Don’t open your gob and ruin it now, DeLaSearle,” he warned. He moved his hand and then gave me a peck on the mouth. “Look, Fox, if this is about what I said the other weekend, forget it. It wasn’t fair of me to threaten you like that, and I’m not going to walk away from this just because you’re not ready to get married yet. I don’t want our marriage to start based on an ultimatum.”

I sighed, feeling like my heart was being wrung out. “I’m not doing it because of the ultimatum,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m doing it because…because I said I would. And because you’re a very sweet man, and you’ve given me my time to be on my own. And because I want to marry you, and have little ginger babies with you. And because I love you.”

Harry’s eyes searched mine to make sure I was being honest. I knew that I was, and hoped he could see that. “Won’t you miss dancing?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” I nodded. “I’ll miss the girls, and Madam, and the smell of hairspray, and the feeling you get right before you go on stage. And I’ll especially miss stuffing my toes into tiny steel boxes.” Harry grinned. “But I’m ready to have adventures with you now.” We were back to beaming at each other like two young kids in love again when the excitement started to bubble up my throat. With a giggle, I asked, "So...what's next?"

Harry thought about his answer for a minute. “Well, we’ll have to get you an assistant, and once we get engaged, you’ll be coming to places with me in an official capacity. Catherine doesn’t have a stylist, but do you think you’ll want one?”

“Yes,” I nodded immediately. Harry chuckled. “Kate’s done a great job helping me, but I don’t think I can ask her to be my stylist as well as hers.”

“All right,” Harry nodded, "but you won’t have to worry about that until it’s official. And, Roxanna, I’m sorry to say this but I’m afraid that you’ll have to spend all Christmases with me and my family at Sandringham.”

“I know,” I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’ll see my mom on New Years. Although, now that I think about the whole family thing…if we’re going to get married and have kids and all that, I’d want my mom to live here. Nearby.”

He frowned. “Do you think that’d be something she’d be interested in doing?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered, "but I want her here for the wedding planning." This was true, I did want her here for the planning and the experience, but I also felt on some juvenile level that, well, I needed my mom. "And when we have a baby, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“All right. We’ll talk to her together.” Together. I liked the sound of that. “After we get married we can talk about where we’ll live. Once we’ve announced our engagement to the press we can talk about venues. What? Why are you smiling?"

I hadn't realized that I was wearing a huge, dorky grin before Harry said it, so I didn't have a great explanation for him. "I don't know. I guess I'm excited."

Before the last word was even finished coming out of my mouth, Harry pressed his lips to mine. When he pulled away, he kept our foreheads pressed together. “You’ve made me so happy, Roxanna.”

Just hearing the words hit me with a wave of relief. Harry saying, "You've made me so happy, my darling," or any variation of was my favorite sound on the planet. It was reserved for moments of deep, intense joy and intimacy, so since we'd been having the engagement debate, I hadn't heard it a whole lot lately. Actually, the last time I had heard it was probably when I'd been promoted to principal dancer, or when Harry had come back from his second deployment. To hear him say it again now was the equivalent of a sign from above, assuring me that everything was going to be okay, and maybe that was worth getting a little religious for.


	114. What the Hell is Rebecca Deacon's Job Anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Finally, after I’d assured Harry once again that I was ready for that trip down the aisle, when he was apparently convinced for certain that I wouldn’t go back on my word, he called his dad first thing the next morning. I could hear Charles congratulating us over the phone. Blushing for reasons I didn’t understand, I listened to Harry as he explained to his father that I would need an advisor, and asked if Charles knew of anyone who was available. Next, he called Kate and asked if she knew anyone who was up to the task of dressing me on the regular for the next several years. She snickered and promised to gather a list of names. The hard part was going to be interviewing them without letting them know that Harry and I were going to be getting engaged soon. As soon as word was out that we were staffing up, the secret would start to trickle out. Although, if the past ten years had taught me anything, it was on how to perfect the art of discretion. 

And the dress…just the _idea_ of _beginning_ to even _think_ about it made my stomach flop. Who would design it? What would it look like? Kate’s had been lovely, of course, and I knew that I would never top hers. Truth be told, if I was marrying someone other than Harry, I probably would have just gotten a replica of the dress from a retailer. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. My dress couldn't even remotely resemble hers or else I'd be some lame wannabe. The press had already gotten a lot out of that storyline in the beginning of me and Harry's courtship. To be fair, I had tried to follow her lead, but I didn't think that was totally ridiculous. Who else had ever been in this position before? It was a steep learning curve! I knew that whatever I wore would be analyzed and talked about for the rest of my life, so my head spun just thinking about thinking about choosing a dress. Thankfully, I didn’t have to start any of that, yet.

To be honest, everything felt more or less exactly normal, except that sometimes I’d be in the middle of practice at work and suddenly think, “I’m engaged!” and a huge smile would come over my face and I’d have to stop myself from jumping in the air. Not the reaction I’d had during the tedious conversations in which I’d prolonged the inevitable, but apparently being engaged had a good effect on me. 

As happy and excited I was was, the thought of having to tell Madam that I was retiring did weigh heavy on my heart. “Well don’t worry about that yet. You have until the end of the year, and it’s only September,” Harry assured me. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the exact thing that everybody was saying I always do? Avoiding a problem I’m scared of until the very last minute?” I asked, remembering my talk with William, and what Pippa had said before B’s wedding.

Placing his hands on my shoulders, Harry reminded me, “I think we’ve got some bigger fish to fry right now. I’m getting plans made for events I’ve got to do in the new year and you’ll be coming with me, so I think we should work on getting you an assistant or a stylist…or both.”

Glaring at him, I asked, “So you’re saying that the thing I need to work on the most is my fashion sense?”

Carefully, Harry answered, “Well, I didn’t say that, but…if the ugly shoe fits…” He had exclaimed in pain from the blow I’d landed in his stomach before he could finish the rest of the expression.

I decided not to interview people for the position before my wounds were fully healed. I didn't need that added stress to my recovery process. Also, I didn’t want to interview them before I knew that I was actually interviewing them _for_. Kate’s own assistant helped out, giving me the names of people she thought would be helpful. Her name was Rebecca Deacon, and pretty much everyone knew who she was. I knew her pretty well, since she spent tons of time with the Cambridges, but for the life of me I didn’t know what her actual position was in the whole mess. “Rebecca,” I said one day at Kensington when she handed me a stack of CVs to review, "what the hell is your actual job, anyway?”

Laughing, she answered, “Everything.”

George stared at me with wide eyes before looking back at his mother. “Mummy, Rossy said a bad word.”

Kate gave me a flat look. “Thanks, Rox.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. “Rossy is very sorry, she shouldn’t have said that,” I apologized to Georgie. He looked satisfied and went back to playing with his trains. 

“She does do everything,” Kate confirmed Rebecca’s answer. “She’s my stylist, my personal assistant, my event planner, my publicist.”

Letting out a huff, I asked, “So basically I have to hire someone I don’t know to trust with my whole life?”

Nodding, Rebecca agreed, “That’s about it, yes.”

When she left, I suddenly felt like someone had dunked my head under freezing water and yanked my heart down through my stomach. "Roxy? Are you all right?” Kate asked, clearly noticing my sudden turn.  
Taking quick, shallow breaths, I raised my hand to my clammy forehead. When Georgie looked up from his trains, he tilted his head to one side. “Mummy? Is Rossy sick? She looks like she has a bellyache.”

“She does,” Kate told him. Clearly feeling uncomfortable, Georgie crawled into Kate’s lap. With a squeeze, she kissed the top of his blonde hair. “Why don’t you go find Daddy?” she suggested.

“I can’t,” George shook his head.

Kate frowned. “Why not?”

“I have to go potty.”

Giggling, Kate kissed his forehead before asking Rebecca to take him to the loo. Once he was out of earshot, Kate sat next to me on the bed and patted my back. “It just got real, didn’t it?”

With another shallow breath, I nodded. I was now the kind of person who needed a stylist, and an assistant. I was now the kind of person who was going to say the wrong thing and infuriate millions of people, and need someone to help me out of it. I was now the kind of person whose primary job in life was to stand next to someone else and look pretty. Maybe some people were better equipped for this lifestyle; Kate had fit in right from the get-go. The jury was still out on whether or not I was one of those people, and, for the first time in the near decade we’d known each other, I suddenly started feeling like I was being sucked into the black hole of Harry’s family. They were this huge universe, just reaching out and grabbing me into their gravitational pull.

“Roxy, it’ll be _fine_ ,” Kate tried to assure me. “Nothing is going to change.” I rubbed my suddenly heavy eyes and she added, “You two conduct yourselves like everything’s normal, and the only people who act like it’s a big deal are people you don’t even see or know.”

When I was eighteen, Kate had said this exact phrase to me in the kitchen of Will and Harry’s apartment at KP. It was while Harry and I were still walking that fine line between friends and something more than that. Back then, it had comforted me to hear that. Who would know better than Kate? This time, thought, I just couldn’t believe her. 

“You should go home and talk to Harry about this,” Kate suggested, because even though we didn’t live together, “home” was where Harry was.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, I nodded, tucked the folder of CVs under my arm, and headed for my car. I’d gotten it back from the shop after the accident, although Harry had been hoping it was totaled. “You clearly shouldn’t be driving yourself places.”

“Hey! My driving is not under fire here!” I pointed out.

“If you would just use one of our cars at least we could black out the windows.”

“Yeah, because a chauffeured, blacked-out car pulling up to the Opera House wouldn’t give me away." Although, a driver would probably have been a good idea right now, since I was actually shaking and felt like vomiting. 

Harry wasn’t at the apartment when I got there. He was out at some very public event, the type on which I would soon be joining him. So while I waited, I decided I’d clean up a little…which was my excuse to go through his things. I wasn’t sure why I always did this. We’d been dating for nearly a decade, it wasn’t like I was going to unearth some huge secret he’d been hiding from me. We didn’t have secrets. 

Well…except one.

Seven years ago, when Harry had been deployed for the first time, his dad had really stepped up for me. He made it clear that he disagreed with the protocol, which would leave me waiting alone if something were to happen to Harry, rather than at Clarence House with the rest of the family. He’d invited me over to Highgrove one weekend, probably to make sure that I didn’t just shut myself in like a hermit for Harry’s four-month deployment. I’d been going through Harry’s drawers, digging up a sweater that I loved so I could hug it, the way I would have hugged Harry if he had been there. I had found the sweater, but I also found an envelope full of half a dozen of his most cherished pictures of him and his mother. I’d been surprised to also find a handful of pictures of the two of us. 

I never told Harry that I'd found the pictures. First of all, I wasn’t going to own up to snooping around his room. Second, during his second deployment, I realized that he had kept adding to the collection. So, every once in a while, like now, I’d get the opportunity to check and see which picture he’d loved enough to keep with the rest of his treasured photographs. 

The older ones were us on the London Eye during our first date. Just at the moment the picture was being taken, Harry had said something funny, and we were facing each other, laughing. The next one was from New Year’s Eve, when Harry had come back to Jersey to meet my family. We were outside on the balcony of our hotel room, freezing cold, arms wrapped around each other inside Harry’s jacket for warmth. The last one had been taken shortly after Harry and I had gotten back together. Bianca had taken it one night when we were all just sitting around KP hanging out. I was holding a glass of wine. Harry’s hand was on my knee. We were beaming at each other, our faces inches apart. 

Over time, he’d added a picture of us his dad had taken after my first show as an official member of the company. Right as the camera flashed, Harry had placed a kiss on my cheek, so the picture had come out with me looking exactly as surprised as I was. Kate had taken another one of the newer pictures. The first time Harry had been deployed, it had all been done in complete secret. The second time no one had bothered to try and keep it quiet. The press agreed not to accept any unauthorized pictures from his base, and Harry agreed to give them access while he was there, an interview only to be released when he was back home. He’d been flying helicopters this time, instead of actually being on the ground, which was supposed to have been less terrifying, but it wasn’t. Since it hadn’t been a secret, and since he’d returned home like a normal person and not a prisoner of war, Prince Charles and William went to pick him up from base. I waited at the KP apartment with Kate, and when he’d opened the door I’d jumped up and thrown myself at him. Kate had snapped the picture right as he caught me, laughing and surprised. 

The newest one was a paparazzi shot, which I hadn’t been expecting. It was recent, from the past winter. Harry had been staying over at my place that night, and he’d forgotten his razor. It was freezing outside, and he had been whining about going to buy a new one for quite a while before I shrugged and suggested, “Just use mine.”

“I’m not using yours, Fox. It’s pink.”

“It’s _lavender_ ,” I corrected him.

“Exactly.”

“So then go get one! Or don’t. I love you all scruffy,” I smirked, patting his face.

He swatted my hands away and reminded me that he had an event for one of his charities. “I can’t. I have WellChild tomorrow.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to buy a new razor.”

“But it’s so cold out.”

“Man up Wales!”

“Come with me!” he whined.

“What? No way! I’m not freezing my ass off because you were being a numpty and forgot to bring a razor.” 

In the time it took me to say this, Harry had tossed my winder coat and hat at me and placed my Uggs in front of me. “God dammit, Spice,” I finally gave in. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

So yes, he may have gotten me to take the (short) walk to Boots in the _freezing_ fucking cold with him, but I still complained and whined the whole time. Harry took my hand and charged ahead, navigating while I moaned behind him. “I hate you! It’s so cold! Why would you make me leave my bed for this? You’re a bad person!”

He had laughed at all of these accusations and then, finally getting fed up with listening to me whine, he had stopped walking and tugged me into him. Clutching my face in his hands, he had planted a startling kiss on my mouth. I hadn’t seen the photographer who had captured this moment of us kissing, all bundled up, both of us clearly laughing at the same time, but the picture had surfaced in the media. I didn’t go looking for this stuff, but it wasn’t like I didn’t use the internet. The first time I’d seen this picture had been on _The Daily Mail_ ’s website. Biting my lip, I’d scrolled down through the comments, only to feel like my heart was ready to burst. “These two are so cute!” “Why won’t they just get married already? UGH!” “Srsly! Can we have another royal wedding please?” “My feels! They’re seriously my OTP! Just get married!!” I didn’t really understand what the last one meant, but I figured it was a good thing. So apparently, those girls weren’t the only ones who thought this picture was special. 

When I heard the front door open, I jumped and shoved the pictures back in the envelope before shutting the drawer. “Fox?” Harry called, knowing I was there from my car outside.

“Hey! I’m in here!” I called back.

He came back in his room, pulling at his tie. “Hey.” As soon as he saw me, his expression turned to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” Sitting on his bed, I stared at the carpet for a long time before Harry finally sat down next to me and placed one hand on my back. “It’s all right, you can tell me,” he assured me, tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear. 

Taking a deep, shaking breath, I confessed, “I don’t know. I was over at Kate’s today and we were talking about getting me an assistant and it just sort of hit me that…that I need an assistant now. And a stylist. And I just feel like I’m being sucked into this black hole of you, and who you are.” Finally, I looked up at him, and felt completely and utterly wracked with guilt. “And I’ve been me, and who I am, for a really long time. So I’m just not sure if I can…do that.”

Harry gave me a sympathetic expression. “Roxy, I know…I know it must feel like you’re being…sucked into it. But we’re not asking to…suck,” he chuckled at the phrasing. “We’re not even asking you to be one of us, really. We’re just…we’re asking you to come with us. Come with us at Trooping the Colour, come with us on tours. Come with us, and bring you, and who you are. All of you, not just the good parts, because we love you. I don’t mean just me, I mean all of us. They adore you. Believe me, if they didn’t, this wouldn’t be happening.” I was starting to feel better already, but then Harry added the last part, which made all of my worries completely disappear. Kneeling down in front of me, he took my hands in his and kissed them before looking up at me, like he was pleading with me. “I know I’m asking you to give up a lot for me. I know I’m asking you to basically give up your whole life for me. But I think…and if this isn’t true, Roxanna, then please tell me right now and we’ll stop…all of this.” Harry stopped and I felt my breath catch in my throat, terrified of what he was about to say next. Finally, with a pleading expression, he offered, “But…I think…I can love you enough to make up for it.”

It was the exact right thing to say at the exact right moment. 100% sure that this was what I wanted, I leaned forward and kissed him, my hands frantically working at the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. Harry snickered. “You should get upset more often.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get plenty more opportunities to calm me down before the wedding.”

"Well if this is your calming down method, I'll gladly help you with it after the wedding as well."


	115. Brutally Honest Ava

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

In between rehearsals and performances, I had a couple of hours one or two days a week to start interviewing consultants and stylists. I was sort of hoping that I could get as lucky as Kate had gotten with Rebecca and find someone who was good at handling everything, and since the thought of a consultant still seemed too intense and gave me anxiety, I decided to start looking for a stylist first. Besides, I was going to want a stylist for when I announced my retirement publicly, so that was more important, anyway. 

The problem was that every girl that I interviewed was dressing me like I was Kate. I didn’t have any problem with the way Kate dressed – she was beautiful, obviously…but I wasn’t Kate. My body type wasn’t like hers. I didn’t have legs that went on for miles, like her’s seemed to, or a dainty little waist that looked good if everything I wore was belted. I was shorter than her, I had more curves, and besides, we were different people. I could never be as classy as Kate was, which was fine with me. She was the kind of girl that never tripped because she was wearing high heels, and she never spilled anything on herself when she wore white. I, on the other hand, was constantly clutching onto things when I teetered in pumps and inevitably dumping red wine on my ivory blouses. Or at least, I used to when I was still hopeful enough to buy white clothing. 

“Do you have interviews today?” Harry asked one morning. He was about to leave to open a hospital, and I had the day off from work.

“Yeah,” I sighed. 

He bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t get discouraged. You’ll find someone.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident,” I told him. “I’ve met a bunch of people and they don’t seem to understand that I’m not Kate.” A terrifying idea struck me that I hadn’t thought of before. It was horrifying, and I had no intention of telling Harry, but he knew me well enough to know that I was internally panicking. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked compassionately, sitting at the kitchen table next to me. I was spending more and more time at KP and less at my apartment, which the press had started to catch on to…because they were constantly monitoring my front door. I operated out of Harry’s home office, because it was easier that way. More and more, our lives were starting to meld together. He was also taking me around some of the vacant apartments there because pretty soon, we’d have to pick one out to be our own. Right now, Harry lived next door to the Cambridges, and I loved his apartment. I wouldn’t care if we stayed there, but Harry wanted to move apartments. “It will just feel more like we’re married that way. Don’t you want the chance to pick out paint colors and furniture?” Well, I couldn’t argue with that. I had wondered whether interviewing potential stylists at KP was the best choice, since the setting could be understandably intimidating, but this was the world the stylist would be working in, so I figured that whoever I chose better know what they were getting into.

“I just thought…what if I spend the rest of my life being compared to Kate?” Harry was silent, probably not knowing how to respond. “I mean, I feel like people are constantly holding me up to Kate’s level, only now the stakes are _much_ higher.”

Shaking his head, Harry assured me, “I don’t think anyone’s doing that, Fox.”

“They did when we first started dating,” I reminded him.

“It’s been ten years,” he chuckled. “They know you’re your own person. Some level of comparison is probably inevitable, but no one is expecting you to be Kate. Not that you’re less than her,” he hurriedly added. “You’re just different.”

I bent forward, pressing our foreheads together. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I’m going ot be your husband. That’s my job, my darling.” he assured me. Then, with a grin, he gave a little shiver. “Your husband. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I agreed with a huge dorky smile. 

Harry left, and I finished my coffee before going back to the bedroom and changing into a pair of jeans, a studded white belt, a gray t-shirt and a beige scarf. I loosely pulled my hair back and put on some makeup before slipping my feet into a pair of Chuck Taylors and heading out into the drawing room. “Miss DeLaSearle, your guest is here,” a staff member in a red jacket told me.

“Great, thanks,” I smiled at him, mentally kicking myself for not knowing his name. “Show her in, please.”

A few moments later, a woman walked into the drawing room. I instantly liked her style. She was wearing a slate grey sheath dress that ended just below her knee, and three-quarter length sleeves. Her heels weren’t too high, and they were a light lavender color with a frayed bow on the toes, which were closed. She’d accessorized with a beautiful leather handbag, which probably doubled as a briefcase. I’d been around rich people long enough by now to know that the bag had cost this woman at least four figures. She was clearly a fashionable person who knew how to not break the unofficial royal fashion protocol, but she also knew how to keep her own sense of style while doing that. I let out a sigh of relief and stood up to greet her. “Hi, I’m Roxy.”

The woman looked around the drawing room, but seemed completely uninterested and not at all intimidated, before her eyes finally fell on me. “Ava,” she introduced herself. “Trying to have the home court advantage? Good strategy.”

She had an accent like Daisy from _Downton Abbey_ , which I knew meant that she came from a lower economic class than the royals. Well, everyone did, but the fact that Ava’s background was probably more like mine endeared her to me. I shook her hand and gestured for her to sit across from me on the couch. She did, and when she crossed her legs I realized that her foot was bouncing up and down. She may have been trying to act like she had it together, but I knew she was at least a little nervous. “So, Ava, have you ever been a stylist for someone before?” I asked.

Ava raised an eyebrow. “I’ve done Gwyneth, Samantha Cameron, Victoria Beckham,” she rattled off a sample of her clients.

Frowning, I asked, “Doesn’t Victoria Beckham do her own styling?”

“Do you know any working mother of four children who has time to dress herself?”

“I don’t know any mother of four children,” I offered after thinking about it for a minute.

“Exactly,” Ava confirmed.

Before I could ask my next question, a different man in red (whose name I _also_ didn’t know) came in and asked if we wanted tea. “Yes, please,” I nodded. He left and I turned back to Ava before admitting, “Just to let you know, I’m a little nervous about all this.”

“Why?” she asked, amused.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just never been the kind of person who has needed a stylist before.”

Cocking one eyebrow, Ava insisted, “Oh, believe me, you’ve _needed_ a stylist.” When my jaw hit the carpet, she shrugged innocently. “I’m just being honest.”

“Well…be less honest!”

“Ooh, can’t, sorry,” she shook her head, her tone implying that she wasn’t sorry at all. “See, it’s my job to be honest with you now, because if I’m not, Joan Rivers is going to be honest with you later, and believe me, she’ll be _way_ meaner about it than I would.”

I figured that was true enough…“Fine. Why don’t you give me some ideas about what you think I’d be able to pull off?”

“First thing’s first,” Ava started off, pulling out a file from her beautiful and expensive handbag. “You’re going to have to learn how to wear heels.”

“I _know_ how to wear heels,” I insisted Okay, I didn’t but hearing someone else say it pissed me off.

Ava just casually replied, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

With a flat glare, I snatched the folder of ideas out of her hand. The first page was a list, and my mind flashed back to the list Kate had made for me after the accident. People had been making lots of lists for me lately…Trying not to crumble under the stress, I took a deep breath and looked at the bullet points.

**D o S**  
_Colors:_  
-Turquoise  
-Red  
-Yellow  
-Violet  
_To Add:_  
-heels  
-appropriate jewelry - no more chunky pieces  
-fascinators  
_Stores & Designers:_  
-Top Shop  
-Zara  
-McQueen (unaltered)  
- **Westwood**

“Why do you have Westwood underlined?” I asked.

Ava’s anwer was the first nice thing she’d said to me all day. “Because you were _born_ to be in Vivienne Westwood.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “What makes you say that?”

Ava shrugged. “That’s just who you are.”

“You don’t know me at all!” I pointed out with a laugh.

“Roxy, the whole Commonwealth knows you,” she insisted, reaching into the file and pulling out several tabloid clippings of me. One was from my first date with Harry. Others were from the concert for Diana, me having brunch with B, Harry and I at a friends’ wedding. Then, to my surprise, she told me almost the exact same thing Bianca had told me ten years ago, when I was picking out my outfit for my first date with Harry. “The Duchess has to be perfect and classy all the time. She always looks beautiful, but she very rarely takes risks. Actually, she _never_ takes risks. She can’t afford to. But you can, and you _should_. You’re not the future Queen Consort. I think the most important part of dressing you is going to be finding a way to say, ‘Hello world, I’m Roxy. I’m not Kate, I’m Roxy’.”

I could have thrown myself at her and hugged her. Instead, not wanting her to get cockier than she already was, I just smiled at her and nodded, flipping through the file. “I agree,” I told her, just as my eyes caught a hand-drawn sketch. It was of a woman of perfect proportions with long, flowing black curls, in a beautiful wedding dress. Lace overlay, long taffeta bell sleeves, an a-line skirt and a train that wasn’t too ridiculous. “Um…what is this?”

Letting out a deflated sigh, Ava answered, “That’s a mock-up of a wedding dress for you that wasn’t supposed to be in the file.” Frowning, my eyes flicked back up to the top of Ava’s list. _DoS._ Ah, Duchess of Sussex. It was the bookies' favorite title prediction for after Harry and I got married. “And, now that you’ve seen it,” she delicately plucked the folder from my hands, “I’m assuming I didn’t get the job.”

The fact that Ava had anything but the utmost confidence shocked me. Seeing her _not_ feeling too cocky was endearing, but I wasn’t about to let on that I thought it was actually a perfect wedding dress. “What makes you so sure?”

“With everyone in England saying you’re getting married, I doubt you want to hear it from someone who works for you,” Ava guessed.

I shrugged. “Be that as it may, the fact remains that I am getting married.” Ava’s jaw his the carpet this time. “So I may as well get used to people telling me that.”

Ava blinked and shook her head. “You can’t just say something huge like that and then follow it up with a completely normal statement!”

“Pretty sure I just did.”

“So when are you announcing?”

“Don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’m going back home for Christmas, and then I’m meeting Harry in Lesotho for New Year’s. I’m assuming he’ll do it there, and we’ll announce as soon as we get back because we want a June wedding.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “You think you can pull a royal wedding together in five months?”

“Will and Kate did it.”

“Fair enough. So I’ve got some time to come up with an announcement outfit?”

“Sure, but I’m also retiring from RBC and I need an outfit for that.”

Ava whipped out a Blackberry and started tapping away. After a while she realized that I was staring at her and blinked up at me. “What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were writing down top secret information in a very hack-able Blackberry.”

Narrowing her eyes, Ava reminded me, “You’re not my first VIP client. I’ve put you down as Monica Gellar.”

Laughing, I asked, “That’s your code? Sitcom characters?”

“I could make you Marge Simpson, if you prefer,” Ava offered, cocking an eyebrow.

Letting out another loud laugh, I assured her that Monica Gellar was just fine. She was tapping away in her Blackberry again when I added, “Listen, Ava, with this job, you’ll be around me and my friends…quite a bit. _The_ most important part of having this job is confidentiality. You _will_ sign a _strict_ contract, and if you break it, you will either go to jail for a very long time or owe me a _lot_ of money.”

Looking up, I could see Ava trying to decide if she could get away with making a smartass remark. Sensing that this wasn’t the time, she gave the most serious expression I’d seen all day before confirming, “I understand.”

“You can say _nothing_. Not to your friends, not to your mother, not to anyone. And I mean _nothing_. Not what I’m wearing to the Order, not my favorite ice cream flavor, not that in my spare time I like to dance around in my underwear.”

Frowning, Ava asked, “ _Do_ you like to dance around in your underwear?”

“Who doesn’t?” I asked, waving a hand. 

When she laughed, it was pretty gratifying. She hadn’t cracked a smile that wasn’t sarcastic the entire meeting. “I like your ideas. I feel like everyone else I’ve interviewed has just tried to dress me in things Kate would wear.”

“Oh no, Kate would look all wrong on you,” Ava shook her head.

All right, that settled it then. “Why don’t you come by next week, Monday. I don’t have a show and Harry will be home so you can meet him.”

Ava’s eyes widened to the size of the saucers that were holding our tea cups, but only for a split second before she reverted back into being a professional. Just a little _too_ vigorously, she shook my hand and I felt a huge wave of relief wash over me. “Of course. I just want you to know that I won’t say anything.”

“Good. If I read about my underwear dancing in _Hello!_ , I’ll know who talked.”


	116. The Only Exception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This second half of this chapter is set to the song "The Only Exception" by Paramore
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

As I went about my everyday life, I was surprised at how normal it all still felt. Maybe things would seem different, once there was actually a ring on my finger, but for now Harry and I were basically in the same place as we had been before the other night. Of course, I did have to tell Madam that this winter would by my last season with RBC. She was the first person who I wanted to know that I was retiring (aside from Ava, whom I'd already told). I didn’t know how to break it to her, but I knew that I had to do it. I had put it off for as long as I could; it was already October, and we would be starting our run of _The Nutcracker_ pretty damn soon. 

So, a few days before Halloween, when crispy brown leaves had started to litter the streets of London, I timidly knocked on her door. “Come in,” she said. I entered and she immediately looked up from her desk, smiling at me. It really made me think about how far I’d come. Ten years ago, in my first year at the Academy, she would have looked up and raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to explain myself while I trembled in fear. Now, she respected me enough to _smile_ when I came in. Oh, how times had changed. “Roxanna. What brings you here?”

Taking a deep breath and looking down at my wringing my hands, I decided that it was best just to get it over with – like pulling off a Band-Aid. “Madam, I...I have to retire.”

Madam frowned. After a pause, she asked, “ _Pardon_?”

With another deep breath, I explained, “I’ve thought a lot about my future, and I’ve come to the decision that it’s time for me to retire.”

Madam’s shoulders fell and she let out a sigh. “I have to admit, this doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, Roxanna.”

I suddenly felt incredibly guilty to be letting her down, and my heart gave a heavy pang. As I explained further, I tried to remember her assurances on my birthday - that, should I choose to retire, I wouldn't be letting her down. “If it was only up to me, I would stay here and dance until I broke my hip. But…I have to think about what’s best for me, and my future, and I think it would be best for everyone if I retired.”

Again, Madam took a long pause, thinking about how she was going to react. I saw the understanding of the situation dawn on her as the expression on her face slowly evolved. Finally, she shook her head. “Well, if you have to retire, I can only wish you the best.” Then, she reached across her desk and took my hands. “And I do wish you _all_ the best, Roxanna.”

I sighed, relieved, and gave her a grateful smile. “ _Merci, Madam_.”  
She blinked back tears that I was shocked to see and then asked, “When will you make this public?”

Shrugging, I answered, “I’m not sure. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Whatever you decide Roxanna, I’m sure it will be the right choice.” Wow. Ten years ago she’d certainly had a different opinion. Although, if I was being honest with myself, I had to admit that having Madam wish me well made me feel a lot better about the whole situation.

Less surprisingly than when I'd seen them in Madam, I felt my own eyes start to sting with tears. Anything that I could possibly say would sound completely inadequate. How did you thank someone for pulling you out of your slow, boring, somewhat depressing life in a tiny, blue-collar suburb, and delivering you to the most fantastic city in the world? How could you express how grateful you were to the person who had made all of your hopes and dreams come true? What were you supposed to say to the person who had taken a chance on you, worked with you, turned you into the best version of yourself, and stood by your side, supporting you every step of the way? There was no way that I could get all of this across to Madam, no matter how much I tried. So instead, I simply said, “Thank you, Madam. For everything.” 

***

 _When I was younger I saw my daddy cry_  
_and curse at the wind._  
_He broke his own heart and I watched_  
_as he tried to reassemble it._

When I left work that night, I found myself driving over to Harry’s, even though I’d intended to go back to my own apartment and collapse into my own bed for a good cry. Now though, I'd changed my mind. I wanted to feel him hold me, having him tell me he loved me, so I knew that I was doing the right thing. And, when he didn't disappoint, when he'd done and said everything he somehow knew I needed him to do and say, my heart was full, and I was certain that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. 

_And my mama swore_  
_that she would_  
_never let herself forget._  
_And that was the day that I promised_  
_I’d never sing of love  
_if it does not exist.__

____

Harry kissed my forehead. “I know you’re sad,” he whispered, “but just think of all we have to look forward to.” I snuggled in closer to him. Looking down at me, he asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

I blinked up at him, surprised that he even felt like he had to ask. “No,” I insisted. “None at all.”

 _But darling,_  
_you are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._

I decided to spend the night before I was going to publicly announce my retirement at KP with Harry. I just didn’t want to be alone. Not too surprisingly, I was struck with a bout of insomnia that night. It was impossible to fall asleep while I felt like someone was stretching my stomach like taffy. As if it wasn’t heartbreaking enough to have to retire in the first place, I had to hold a press conference, too. This wasn’t actually that strange – most ballet dancers of note would have done the same thing. Only this one would be jam packed with reporters trying to hang on my every word, scribbling down every criticism, speculating about my romantic situation. 

Figuring that my options were either to toss and turn until I woke Harry up, or get out of bed, I took my phone off the nightstand and headed into the drawing room. Before I went in, I asked the man in a red coat standing outside if I could have some tea. He bowed with a, “Yes, miss,” and went to retrieve it. I looked out the huge window to the landscape of the grounds at KP and felt my heart start to beat faster. Could I live here? Could I do this, _really_ do this? 

_Maybe I know somewhere_  
_deep in my soul_  
_that love never lasts,_  
_and we’ve got to find other ways_  
_to make it alone,_  
_or keep a straight face._

My hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly dial Bianca’s number, but eventually I did. “Hello?” she asked, sounding like I’d obviously just woken her up. “Roxy? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured her. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay,” she told me. “What’s up?”

I chewed on my bottom lip before finally asking her what I was afraid to ask anyone else, even myself. “Am I doing the right thing?”

Bianca let out a sigh, and after a long pause, she answered, “I don’t think I can answer that for you, Rox. I don’t think anyone else can. What do _you_ think?”

I just shrugged. “I think…I’m really sad,” I confessed.

“Well, of course you are. You’ve been doing this a long time. A certain amount of sadness is to be expected. But, when you think of your future, how do you feel?” I was about to answer when Bianca spoke up again. “And this is me, Roxy, all right? If what you feel is crippling fear and dread, you can tell me, and we’ll figure it out.”

I knew she was being honest, and I loved her for saying that. I thought about her question for a minute before answering, “No. I’m…I’m scared, but I’m really looking forward to it. I’m excited to start my life now.”

“Honest?” Bianca asked.

“Honest,” I confirmed, nodding.

“Then I think you’re doing the exact right thing,” she told me finally.

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt a lot better. Bianca had been there from literally the very beginning of my relationship with Harry, and she'd never been shy when it came to sharing her opinion about it. “I think you’re right,” I agreed. Just then, the man in the red coat entered with tea. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. I love you, Roxy.”

“Love you,” I responded before hanging up the phone, thanking the man, and sipping a cup of chamomile.

 _And I’ve always lived like this;_  
_keeping a comfortable distance._

I got back into bed with my tea, turning on a light and opening my aged copy of _Wuthering Heights_.

“I’ll tell you how it ends,” Harry spoke up, making me jump.

“You scared me,” I told him, clutching my chest. "I thought you were asleep."

He opened one eye and told me, “Heathcliff dies, and everyone else lives happily ever after.”

“Well now you’ve spoiled it,” I smirked.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I tried to explain. “Just getting cold feet for tomorrow.”

Sitting up, Harry asked, “Are you sure it’s just cold feet?”

“I’m sure,” I nodded. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s always sad when you stop doing something you’ve done for so long. Like when I left home. I was sad to be leaving behind my dance studio and my mom, but I was excited to come here and start at RBA.” Just thinking about myself ten years ago made me start to tear up.

“Oh, darling,” Harry sympathized, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my forehead. “It doesn’t mean you’ll never dance again. And I promise you that I’ll make it worth your while.”

 _And up until now I’ve sworn to myself_  
_that I’m content with loneliness,_  
_because none of it was ever worth the risk._

He pulled away and I smiled up at him. “I know you will,” I assured us both. Then, so I could have something to focus on other than how sad I felt, and how much my heart was breaking, and to remind myself of why I was doing this, I kissed his chest, and kept kissing.

 _Well, you are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._

The next day, Ava zipped up the pale pink peplum dress she'd chosen for today and looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “Perfect,” she assessed. “I am a fashion genius. Now wait here.” I turned around and watched, curious, as she opened a box and took out a pearl necklace and a few strands of bracelets, as well as earrings.

“Ava, we talked about my budget,” I warned her.

“They’re rented. Humiliating. But that’s a secret that dies in this room, do you understand?”

“You think _I’m_ gonna tell anyone?” I asked her, holding my hand out for the earrings.

Ava slid on the bracelet before clasping the necklace behind me. “Perfect, _perfect_ ,” she smiled, excited at her almost-finished product. “Now just put your arms through here,” she instructed me as she held out the black blazer behind me. “There. Finished!” she clapped.

I had to admit, she’d done a good job. My hair had been twisted into a bun earlier that day, and my make up had been professionally applied. I didn’t know how many ways there were to put make up on my face, but I could definitely tell the difference between when I’d done it myself and when a professional did it…and their way was a lot better. Ava automatically offered me her hand as I slipped my feet into my years-old and somewhat weathered L.K. Bennetts. “You look great,” Bianca encouraged me.

“Thanks,” I offered her a weak smile. 

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Worse than I look, if I look great,” I answered honestly.

“Rox,” she pouted at me sympathetically, then asked, “Do you have your statement?” I waved it at her before slipping it into the pocket of my blazer. “I know you’re sad, but you’re doing the right thing,” she reminded me.

Before I could doubt her, Madam came back stage in the pressroom. “Ladies, are you ready?”

Clearing my throat, I answered her like I would if I was still a student. “ _Oui, Madam_.”

She smiled. “So formal, Roxanna.” Smoothing some hair into my top knot, she asked Bianca and Ava if she could speak to me alone for a moment. When the other girls left the room, she took a deep breath. “I can only think of one reason why you should be retiring now, Roxanna. And I want you to know, that, when you were still a student here, if I was ever hard on you, it was just because I never wanted this day to come.” Her voice choked up and I silently thanked Ava for being smart enough to sneak tissues into my other pocket. “You are beautiful, and talented, and I’m sure that you will have an amazing new life.”

“ _Merci, Madam_ ,” I gratefully thanked her. 

She sniffled, gave me a European kiss on each cheek, and then gestured to the doorway leading to the podium. I took a deep breath before opening the door, and as soon as I did, I was blinded.

 _I’ve got a tight grip on reality but I can’t_  
_let go of what’s in front of me here._

I had anticipated as such, but it was still shocking. Before I could even unfold my statement, reporters were shouting at me, wanting to know if I was engaged or not.

_I know you’re leaving in the morning when you wake up._

I waited for the bustle to die down before reading from my statement. “Hello everyone, first of all thank you for coming out today. It’s an important day in my career, so it’s lovely to have you all here.” I paused and made sure I had my tissues handy before continuing. “Today, I am sad to be announcing my retirement from the Royal Ballet Company.”

_Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream._

At that statement, there was another surge of blinding lights and bombardment of questions. Again, I waited for them to die down before continuing on with my statement. “I will miss everyone dearly. I made some of the most imoportant friendships of my life here that have lasted far longer than my school days. When I think of all of the things that happened at the Academy and with the Company, it seems I have lived a lifetime here. I would like to personally thank all of the girls in the Academy and the amazing women I work with in the Company. Also, thank you to my wonderful partner, Marcus Rhodenski, for always being there to support me, literally.” There was a light chuckle. “Most of all to Madam and Monsieur for helping turn me into the best dancer I could be.” Looking up, I blinked back my tears and dabbed under my eyes with my tissues. “I have had an amazing ten years as a part of this organization, and I am more thankful than I can ever say to have been given this opportunity. And, to any little girls watching out there, no matter who you are, or where you come from, if you work hard, and if you really, really want it, you can have anything.”

Again, I wiped the tears from under my eyes. There were more shouted questions, but I simply thanked them for coming one more time and left the podium quickly, not wanting to break down in front of all of those cameras.

 _You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._

In back, I hugged Marcus and Bianca.

“I can’t believe this will be our last Christmas together,” Marcus all but wept.

“Me, either,” I shook my head.

“Group hug,” Bianca insisted, and, even though my heart was breaking for the end of my RBC career, sandwiched between my two friends I again knew I’d made the right choice.

 _You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._

I’d planned on going home to my apartment that night, assuming that I’d want to be alone. I was right, but there was also a small part of me that wished Harry, or at least Pippa, were there. It was rare that I requested a car service from Harry rather than driving myself, but I was so afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get it together that I’d asked for a driver to take me back this time. I put my sunglasses down when I got out of the car and ignored the photographers who, after my retirement announcement, were certain that I was engaged.

 _You are the only exception._  
_You are the only exception._

By the time I exited the elevator, the exhaustion hit me, and I just wanted to sink into a bubble bath with a glass of wine…and maybe some chocolate. My phone buzzed and I knew it was Harry trying to get in touch with me, but I didn’t feel like answering any questions. I pulled my key out of my purse, opened the door, and immediately smiled. On the table where I usuall tossed my keys was a huge bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of expensive looking bubble bath, and a glass of my favorite malbec. I plucked the card from the bouquet and read it, my eyes filling with tears for the millionth time that day.

 _Fox –_  
_Thank you so much for doing this. You’re amazing, and I love you very much._  
_\- Spice_

Yes, I’d definitely done the right thing. Smiling, I uncorked the bottle and headed into the bathroom to fill the tub.

_And I’m on my way to believing._

“Oh my God!”

The bathtub was already full, and there were candles lit on every possible surface of the bathroom. “I know you said you’d want to be alone,” Harry told me, “but I just thought I’d come here and make sure you were all right.”

Feeling like it was true for the first time that day, I assured him, “I’m fine. But I’m glad you’re here.” I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his chest. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too, Fox.”

I stood there for a few more minutes, thinking about all we’d been through, and everything we were about to go through. Harry must have sensed this, because he kissed the top of my head and started to map out our future together, the way he always did when I was worrying about it. “Just think, in a couple of months we can get started on those ginger babies you want so bad.” And I knew then that all of the sadness and heartache I’d felt that day was 100% worth it.

_Oh, and I’m on my way to believing._


	117. I Don't Wanna Dance If I'm Not Dancing With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This second half of this chapter is set to the song "Holy Ground" by Taylor Swift
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Now that my retirement had been made public, there was one person I specifically wanted to talk to about it. Just as I had been a shoe-in to replace Victoria White when she’d retired (ironically enough because she got married and then pregnant), Olivia Guest was the dancer who was already poised to take my spot. She’d been tip-toeing on my heels since the day she’d gotten to RBA. At first, her clingy attitude had been irritating; she was like the little sister I never wanted. She grew on me over time, and I found her obvious desire to be a great ballerina endearing. She still wasn’t my best friend on the planet, since I knew she was gunning for my principle part and my defenses were constantly up around her. Irritatingly enough, I couldn’t deny that she was an amazing dancer with an incredible amount of talent, and she was maybe the only person who had worked just as hard as I had to get where we were. Maybe I only wanted to talk to her because I knew it would be therapeutic – like having a conversation with the other half of me that still wasn’t ready to be giving it all up.

After our Saturday night shows, most of the dancers went out to a bar or club in the area. It was fun to blow off some steam, and the dancers who had been with the company for so long (myself included) had the luxury of choosing not to dance on Sundays, so we could have something resembling a normal weekend. I used to do it all the time with Marcus, sometimes Harry joined us, other times it was just the girls and I. Lately, I’d been passing up the chance to go clubbing in favor of greasy take out and a bad chick flick or action film with my amazing boyfriend. Tonight though, since it would be one of my last chances to go out, I decided to take advantage. While I was washing off my stage make up and applying different shades that wouldn’t make me look like RuPaul, I called into the soloists’ dressing room. “Hey Rox. What’s up?” one of my former classmates, Sara Dawes, asked. Sara and I were a dying breed. Most girls from our class had either been recruited elsewhere or not at all. If any other girls had gone pro with RBC, it had only been for a few seasons before they decided to transfer abroad, or they’d retired, pretty much for the same reason I was doing now. 

“Nothing. Are you coming out tonight?”

“Yeah! Are you?”

“Yup.”

“Harry?” The girls I danced with were all on a first-name basis with him, especially girls like Sara, who had been around since the beginning of our relationship. I liked that he’d been around so long that he was no longer a novelty.

“Nope, just my gay boyfriend tonight,” I told her, and she chuckled. “Hey, could you send Olivia in here for a sec?”

“Sure. I’ll see ya at the stage door later?”

“Sure will.” I hung up and placed my costume on the back of the door for the wardrobe mistress to steam clean for my next performance. I was making sure that I had plenty of broken-in shoes as backups in case of emergencies when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

Olivia entered, and I could instantly tell that she was tense. Her shoulders were practically in her ears, and she was hunched over like I might pounce on her at any moment. When I told her to sit on the couch with me and offered her tea, she mumbled, “No thanks,” and sat in the corner of my leather sofa, tucking her legs into her. Not seeing any point in further making small talk, I offered up, “So…I guess you’ve heard about what’s going on.” Slowly, looking like a wounded puppy, Olivia nodded. I waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t I just asked, “And? What do you…think about that?”

Lifting her head up, Olivia bluntly answered, “I think you’re bat shit crazy out of your fucking mind.”

“Well, don’t sugarcoat it, Liv.”

“Do you realize how hard you’ve worked to get here? How much you’ve put into this? Literally blood, sweat, and tears, and now you’re just going to give it all up to sweep some guy’s floors and have his children?”

“I wouldn’t put it _that_ way,” I corrected her. “I know it must seem insane to you.”

“It does,” she agreed before I even had a chance to finish my thought.

Sighing, I shook my head. “You’re so lucky.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at me and slowly, cautiously, asked, “Why?”

“Because you’re so young.”

Her eyes shrunk into even smaller slits, which I would have thought was impossible. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m so young and inexperienced and you wrap a compliment up in some patronizing assessment of my personal life?”

Okay, I _had_ been guilty of this in the past, but she got on _my_ nerves sometimes, too! “No, that’s not…I mean, you’re lucky, because you don’t have to be torn between two things. You haven’t found anyone or anything that you love more than you love dancing, but if you did…I mean, could you imagine what that would be like?”

After a minute’s pause, Olivia answered, “ _No_!”

I laughed. “Exactly! You can’t even imagine what that would be like because it’s so far removed from your reality. But just _try_ and think about if you did. I mean, you put dancing ahead of everything, right? Well there’s something that I need to put ahead of that.”

“There’s some _one_ you need to put ahead of that,” Olivia corrected me. “So you’re putting someone else first, before your own passion and happiness.”

With a flat look, I insisted, “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“How so? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re giving up something you’ve worked your whole life for so you can have a big, fancy wedding and wear pretty dresses.”

My friendship with Olivia often reminded me of my friendship with Kate. Olivia had a smart mouth, and sometimes my hand reflexively curled into a fist because my instinct was to smack her, the same way I used to with Grace when we were little. She could be in complete awe and admiration of something I was doing one second, and the next she was insulting me without even meaning to. I was suddenly transported back to Bianca’s wedding, when I’d told Kate that I didn’t want to get married pretty much for these exact reasons. After my jaw tensed and I ground my teeth, I replied, “Well then you’re not sitting in my seat. Look, I didn’t call you in here to justify myself to you.”

“Then why did you call me in here? Because it sounds like that’s exactly what you wanted to do. You wanted to try and convince me that it was a good idea because then you’d be convincing _yourself_ it was a good idea.”

I didn’t realize how much this wasn’t true until she said it. I considered this for a second, and then almost immediately dismissed it, because it wasn’t the case at all. I wanted to give Olivia a heads up, tell her that she was on deck, and I wanted to say goodbye to her personally, because I respected her as a dancer. 

“I just wanted to give you a heads up that Madam and Monsieur were tagging you for principle,” I told her.

Sensing that this was the end of the conversation, Olivia just gave me a small nod before forcing out a smile. “Okay. Well…thanks then.” She got up off the couch and gave me a hug, which was surprisingly tight and sincere. “Congratulations, Rox.” When we pulled away, she looked just as surprised as I felt by the fact that we were both blinking back tears. I told her I’d see her later when we went out, and when she left I let out a sigh of relief, feeling like all of my loose ends were finally tied up.

***

After my press conference, after I’d told Olivia, and after two weeks of the media speculating about Harry popping the question any day now, Madam called me into her office after workshop on a Saturday afternoon. “ _Oui Madam_?”

“Monsieur and I wanted to talk to you about a retirement party,” she told me with a friendly smile. Ever since my announcement, Madam had been getting warmer towards me. I chalked it up to everyone getting sad and nostalgic. 

“Oh, Madam, that’s okay, you really don’t have to do that,” I assured her.

Madam waved her hands in front of her, in effect waving away my words. “Don’t be ridiculous, Roxanna, of course we do.” Like my press conference, a retirement party was pretty standard for retiring ballerinas. The only difference here is that I wouldn’t be able to have a small party in the private room of a fancy restaurant. Well, I would, but the restaurant would be surrounded by paparazzi and there would be nothing private about it. 

Letting out a weary sigh, I reminded her, “You know it’ll be a circus.”

“Nonsense. We’ll have it here, on the RBC campus, and there will only be invited press allowed.” Again, this was pretty much standard procedure. Other ballerinas got press at their retirement parties, and those pictures were published in legitimate newspapers, with legitimate arts sections, for people who were legitimately interested in ballet. The way mine would work, however, is that certain photographers would be allowed inside the event, and then they would sell their pictures not only to legitimate publications, but to the tabloids as well, where the real money was. The good news, however, was that if there were specific members of the invited press, there wouldn’t be paparazzi buzzing around being annoying and invasive. With the more legitimate photographers getting better shots, their pictures would be worthless.

“Harry will want to come,” I warned her.

“Of course he will,” she answered, letting me know that she’d clearly already thought of this. 

Since there was no use arguing with her, I told her it was fine. She arranged the party to be held at the Opera House, and there would be photographers there, but it wouldn’t be too crazy. Harry was going to come in a back entrance, so there wouldn’t need to be a red carpet or anything. Plus, when I called my mom and told her what was going on, she decided that she wanted to come to the party, so that was pretty sweet. 

When I picked her up from the airport, I actually felt weird not telling her about Ava. I hadn’t been trying to keep it from her or anything, it just hadn’t come up. She knew that I was going to retire, and she knew what that meant for my future with Harry, but for some reason, I just felt awkward thinking about her knowing that I had a stylist. We hadn’t exactly come from the same background as Harry. My mom shopped mostly at Target or Marshall’s and she never bought anything that wasn’t on sale. So yeah, telling her that I was now paying someone to buy me designer labels was going to be…weird, but since Ava had picked out my outfit for the retirement dinner, I really didn’t see anyway around it. One look at that beautiful dress and my mother would know I hadn’t picked it out myself. _Anyone_ who knew me would know I hadn’t picked it out myself. In my opinion, the dress wasn’t even that expensive, but my view on that was very far apart from my mother’s. 

We got back to my apartment and I pulled out the couch for her. Whenever she came to visit, she just bunked on the couch, not seeing the point of paying for a hotel, even though I offered. I understood that she wanted to save some hotel fare, but as an adult, this was a pretty annoying routine. She’d stay for several days, which meant that Harry and I couldn’t spend nights together because I felt too awkward about it. I knew it shouldn’t have been a huge deal; we’d certainly been a lot farther apart for a lot longer. It was just an awkward stage in life – to be completely independent and have my mother still treat me like I was that seventeen-year-old who had just left home. Also, this way I couldn’t hide things from her…like the fact that I had a stylist.

I silently worried over this as we made our way up to my apartment. I waited until she unpacked to ask her what she was wearing. The press was going to be just as harsh with my mother as it had been with me. Once, during William’s passing out from the RAF, Carole Middleton had been filmed chewing gum. By the press reaction, you would have thought she denounced Queen and country and stormed out of the ceremony. “That polka dot dress I have,” she casually shrugged. My mom had bought the dress roughly around 1982. It was one of those rare pieces that lasted through generations of fashion trends, and she could definitely still pull it off, but thinking about the press reporting that she was wearing a dress she’d gotten from Sears thirty years ago made me cringe. My mom gasped at my reaction. “Roxanna Nicole! Well, look at you, _so_ important!”

“Ma, there’s just going to be press at this party, and they’ve already caught you in that dress three times.”

My mother narrowed her eyes at me. “You want me to go buy a new dress that’s going to be _twice_ as expensive to wear one time?”

“You can wear it as many times as you want!” I tried to insist, even though it was only half true. She could wear it as many times as she wanted…as long as the press wasn’t around. They weren’t going after she and Grace as aggressively as they went after Carole and Pippa, which I assumed was because they were an ocean away. When the two of them visited me from time to time there were pictures, and people definitely knew who they were, but they weren’t fixtures like Kate’s family. “Look, Mom, you don’t have to buy it. I can get it for you.”

My mother let out another horrified gasp.

I hurriedly tried to correct this faux pas. “Or Ava can rent you one!”

“Who is _Ava_?”

 _Oh. Christ._ “She’s um…well, she’s this woman I hired to um…help me out with some things.”

My mother, since she was not an idiot, raised an eyebrow. “What kinds of things?”

I gulped. “Like um…well, sometimes I need help with um…did you see that dress I wore at the press conference?”

“Yes,” she slowly nodded.

“Well, she helped me pick that out.”

There was a long pause. “So she’s a…what, personal shopper? A stylist?”

“Um…well, yeah. She’s a stylist.”

My mom took a deep breath before slowly lowering herself onto my bed.

When she was quiet for a long time, I cleared my throat. “Ma, I mean…I know I probably sound like a total snob, but I’ve had a great career, and anyway, _I’m_ paying for her. It’s not like I just got myself a royal sugar daddy.” She was still silent. I sat down next to her. “Okay, please say something, because I’m _really_ afraid that you’re just sitting there judging me for being a spoiled brat and I _really_ need you to know that…that’s not what it’s like.” 

Finally, she blinked up at me, and I could see that her eyes were swelling with tears. “No, Roxy, of course I’m not judging you,” she sniffled, brushing my hair off my shoulders. “I’m just…I did this with Grace, too, when she was getting married. To me you’re still that three-year-old in a tutu. And now you’re…you have a _stylist_ and _press conferences_ and…and someday, very soon, you’ll be walking down an aisle.” Swallowing back her tears, she went on. “And it wouldn’t matter if it was the aisle at Westminster Abbey or the aisle at Our Lady of the Holy Rosary.“ That was the name of the Catholic church I’d been to a few times when I was little. ”It’s just…it’s a very emotional time for a mother.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Thanks Mom. But um…don’t tell Grace about Ava.”

“Why? She won’t judge you for it. She’ll just be incredibly jealous.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, my mom nodded. “Ah. Right. I see where you’re going with that.”

***

Madam and I put together the guest list for the party, and we’d invited some girls who had moved on to other dance companies, but who had been in my year at school. I had never been particularly close to any of the other girls; Bianca and I dormed together first year, and Harry and I started dating pretty quickly, so it then became a trust issue. Still, it was good to see them girls again. As odd as it seemed, they had been a constant for three years, through some sky-scraping highs, and unfathomable lows. 

My mom and I headed in together, and I was really glad not to have to do that alone. Not having to go everywhere alone anymore was another upside to getting married. Harry and I were constantly plotting ways to go someplace together, which usually involved one of us going through a back entrance. Tonight was no different. Harry came into the lobby of the Opera House a few minutes after my mom and I arrived. He got me a flute of champagne and placed a hand on my back. I didn’t know if this was just a sign of affection or if he knew I needed the support, but either way I appreciated it. A camera flash popped and I tried to ignore it.

“You look lovely,” he murmured into my hair.

Ava had done another amazing job. A red satin dress with a tulip skirt, some waves on the side, red drop bead earrings, an antique ruby and diamond ring, and red rhinestone bracelet. She’d paired it with a black blazer, heels, and clutch and told the hair-dresser to twist my curls up into a half-updo. She was definitely worth her salary…a fact she was not shy reminding me of. “Thank you.”

“Lovely to see you again, Marci,” he greeted my mother with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello Harry. I’m glad you’re here, I know she feels better about it,” my mom smiled at him.

“Anything for our girl,” he beamed down at me.

There were tables set up around the lobby with pictures of me in different performances and costumes. I went around the room, remembering all of them - every dance, every character, every tutu, every tour. Marcus and I reminisced over the nights we’d practiced until we were punch drunk, and jet lag we’d suffered during world tours. There were even a few pictures of Bianca and I at school, one of Olivia and I getting in some extra practice my third year. It was actually incredibly touching to see nearly everyone I loved all in the same room. For just a second I wished the Cambridges and my sister could be there, but this was still pretty awesome.

We sat down for dinner, which they were actually serving on stage, and Harry rubbed my back. “You all right?”

“Mhm,” I nodded at him, comforted by the warmth of his palm. All things considered, tonight was going to be a good night. It had been heartbreaking to part with the company, with Madam, to announce my retirement. The past several weeks had been more bitter than sweet, but that was starting to even out now. With a reassuring smile, I gave his knee a squeeze before Madam stood up and clinked her fork against her glass. 

“Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate Roxy’s wonderful career,” she started, reading off a piece of paper. I was sure she’d made dozens of these same speeches, but I could swear I saw the paper fluttering in her shaking hand. “Roxanna, you first came to us ten years ago, as a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old girl, out on her own for the first time. I’ll never forget your audition. I immediately knew there was something special about you.” I heard my mom sniffle from her seat next to me, no doubt remembering how she had slowly, carefully turned to me after I’d come back from my audition, and in a shaky voice asked how it had gone. I unfolded my linen napkin and dabbed at my eyes. “Given your illustrious career with us, I thought it would be more appropriate to express how Monsieur and I feel through a little video we put together.” 

At her cue, a screen dropped down behind her. We used it for sets sometimes, but tonight a film reel started playing. Oh God…I was going to need more napkins.

_I was reminiscing just the other day,_  
_while having coffee all alone, and Lord, it took me away_  
_back to a first-glance feeling on a New York time,_  
_back when you fit in my poems like a perfect rhyme._

My mom burst out into laughter as a video one of my very first ballet classes popped up on the screen. There I was, as a teeny three-year-old, with my belly covered by my pink leotard, my black curls pulled back into pig-tails. It must have been an open house class where the parents could come watch, because there were half a dozen other parents holding cameras as well. I spotted my mom in the crowd and gave her a smile, which was made even cuter by the fact that I was missing one of my front teeth. Harry laughed and gave my shoulder a squeeze. After the class, I ran up to my dad and leaped into his arms. My heart wrenched as I watched him smile down at me and kiss the top of my head. Why hadn’t they cut that part out?

_Took off faster than a green light, go._  
_Yeah you skipped the conversation when you already know._  
_I left a note on the door with a joke we’d made,_  
_and that was the first day._

There was another video then, and I remembered that George Melankopis, director of the studio where I’d danced for thirteen years, had put it together. It was to send out to different academies as sort of a pre-audition. I hardly recognized the knobby-kneed girl in her black leotard and pink tights, dancing around an empty studio. There were a few more clips of George working with me on my extension, of me working with my pas de deux partner from back home. I was never one to get too cocky, but even I could recognize that what I had was somehow different from my partner. 

_And darling, it was good,_  
_never looking down._  
_And right there where we stood_  
_was holy ground._

At one point, George had given me a small interview, just as a personal statement, so I was talking into the camera. “I’m Roxanna DeLaSearle, I’m seventeen, and I’ve been dancing since I was three. It’s my passion, and it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.” George must have said something then, because I burst into laughter. Needless to say, that section of the video hadn’t made the final cut when I’d sent it out.

_Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress._  
_We had this big, wide city all to ourselves._  
_We blocked the noise with the sound of “I need you,”_  
_and for the first time, I had something to lose._

The next clip was actually just pictures of me moving at RBA. There was one of my mom and I arriving in Heathrow with all of my stuff (which was actually just one suitcase…I didn’t have a lot of stuff), another of Bianca and I awkwardly standing next to each other, only having met hours ago. I looked around the stage for where she was sitting and smiled at her. She laughed and fanned her face, letting me know that she was getting emotional, too. The next picture was a selfie she’d taken of us the night we went out to Boujis, the night I met Harry. It was literally maybe an hour before my entire life had turned completely upside down, and seeing that picture gave me goose bumps. I leaned over and whispered to Harry what the picture was, and another camera flashed. He nodded before telling me he already remembered. “Like I could forget that dress.” Okay, it had been a little…revealing.

_And I guess we fell apart in the usual way,_  
_and the story’s got dust on every page,_  
_but sometimes I wonder how you think about it now,_  
_and I see your face in every crowd._

There were a couple more pictures of me rehearsing with Bianca and Marcus. There were also pictures of Harry and I, clearly after I’d just come off stage. During my third year spring shop, his family had come out to watch my graduation, and there was a picture I actually loved of me, in full costume, curtseying to his grandmother. I turned to him to find that he was giving me the exact same huge smile that I was giving him. All right, so Madam and Monsieur weren’t going to be subtle about why they thought I was leaving.

_But darling, it was good,_  
_never looking down._  
_And right there where we stood_  
_was holy ground._

The next video clip was of my first spring shop performance, and then my performance at the Concert for Diana. Again, I looked around the room, for Marcus this time. He blew me a kiss, no doubt remembering how hard we’d worked for that part in the show. It seemed so long ago, and to think back on it now was absolutely crazy. At the time I’d been horribly depressed, convinced that Harry and I were completely done for good, Bianca had suffering from a raging eating disorder, Harry was recovering from a severe drug addiction. The only reason I’d made it through any of that was because I had the studio, and Marcus, to fall back on.

_Tonight I’m gonna dancefor all that we’ve been through,_  
_but I don’t wanna dance_  
_if I’m not dancing with you._  
_Tonight I’m gonna dance_  
_like you were in this room,_  
_but I don’t wanna dance_  
_if I’m not dancing with you._

Again, it was made clear to me that pretty much everyone knew why I was retiring. There was one picture of Harry and I out after Will and Kate’s wedding, with all of his cousins, out on the dance floor. Just thinking about how drunk I’d gotten that night made me feel hung over. There were other pictures of us going out, too, both of us looking so incredibly young that it made me laugh. This was, of course, before I’d noticed his drinking problem. For a while there we’d been going out together all the time…until I’d tripped and fallen in class, embarrassing myself in front of all of the other girls. Not one of my finest moments. The last clip in this series was of the two of us at the Concert for Diana. The picture was actually of us with the Cambridges, but they’d been cropped out. I didn’t think the picture gave anything away, like the fact that the day before we’d pretty much agreed to get back together…and stay that way. Nonetheless, people read between the lines, or otherwise just made up that we’d gotten back together in their own minds, and they’d obviously been right. 

_But darling, it was good,_  
_never looking down._  
_And right there where we stood_  
_was holy ground._

Bianca started it, getting up from her chair and holding her arms out to Piers. He gladly took them, wrapping them around her shoulders and humoring her by twirling her around between the tables. Marcus got up then, too, pulling his boyfriend (for the next five minutes, anyway) out to dance with them. His boyfriend blushed a little, but went with him all the same. My heart gave a violent wrench as I remembered what he said about replacing my dancing partner. Groups of girls got up, too, dancing with their significant others, or just in big circles all together. Eventually, Harry got up and held a hand out. “Come on, Fox. Don’t you want to dance together on this stage, just once?” I was sort of surprised by how much I immediately wanted to do this, like it was suddenly of the utmost importance. Taking his hand, I gladly let him lead us out to where everyone else was dancing, feeling like I had, officially, made the change from Marcus to Harry. And, unlike most things that usually changed in my life, I welcomed it whole-heartedly.

_Tonight I’m gonna dance_  
_for all that we’ve been through,_  
_but I don’t wanna dance_  
_if I’m not dancing with you._  
_Tonight I’m gonna dance_  
_like you were in this room,_  
_but I don’t wanna dance,_  
_if I’m not dancing with you._

The video ended and on the screen there was a picture of Harry and I that I recognized, but I wasn’t sure from where. I was in full costume, and he was kissing my cheek. I looked…surprised? My heart swelled as I realized how I recognized the photograph. It was from his “secret” stash in his drawer. He must have specifically given this one to them. Across the picture in gold script, a message spelled out, Congratulations Roxy! 

No, not subtle at all, but I was pretty okay with it.


	118. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It seemed like I blinked and all of a sudden, my last show had arrived. Figuring that it was useless to try and keep my last performance a small, quiet affair, the Company had widely publicized it. I had told them months ago that most of the Royal Family would be attending, and they were all set for it. What with the Company being the _Royal_ Ballet Company, they weren’t strangers to royal visits. In preparation, they had rolled out a red carpet, and the paparazzi were lining up to snap pictures of the socialites, politicians, and royal family members who had shown up. 

I, of course, wasn’t watching any of this, because I was getting ready in my dressing room. Flowers covered every square inch of space and the room smelled delicious…and yet, still faintly of hairspray. Sighing, and then breathing in that scent one last time, I leaned back in my vanity chair and looked at my reflection in the mirror. As soon as the tears stung my eyes I felt ridiculous. I _looked_ ridiculous, that was for sure – pink cheeks, red lips, blue eye shadow. There was no way I’d ever be caught dead looking like this outside of a show. Still, here I was, getting all upset over it, feeling nostalgic over the scent of hairspray.

There was a knock on the door and I told whomever it was to come in. I expected to see Harry or Will and Kate, but was pleasantly surprised to see Marcus. “I brought you this, for after,” he said, showing off a bottle of champagne.

“Aw, thank you,” I hugged him.

“I can’t believe this is the last night I’ll be lifting you,” he admitted.

“We’ve come a long way,” I nodded, thinking of the two of us as eighteen-year-olds in pas de deux workshop. 

Marcus’s eyes searched mine for a minute before he asked, “Be honest, Rox. Are you getting engaged or not?” When I didn’t answer right away, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. “I _knew_ it!”

I smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Hush, Marcus. You don’t know anything.” Before we had a chance to talk about it any more, the house lights dimmed. I gave Marcus another hug. “You’ll be at the party, right?” Pippa was throwing me a party after, a last hurrah of sorts. The royals wouldn’t be able to attend, because they’d be on their way to Sandringham, and I was secretly looking forward to this one last chance to let my hair down.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Plus, I know the HRH won’t be there, so I can have you all to myself.” He gave my hand a squeeze before leaving my dressing room. The plan was to stay up late drinking and saying goodbye to my friends before I got on my plane back to the States. I was glad to be going back. I thought that maybe not being in London, where I had so many memories of dancing, would help ease the pain, and if not, I always had my nephew, Eddie, to make me smile. 

All too soon, Marcus and I were waiting in the wings for our cue. It sounded, and I took a breath, went up on my toes, and walked out on stage with him for the very last time. 

***

The standing ovation after my final curtain call seemed unreal. The stage was covered in flowers, and I bent down to take a bouquet from a little girl, who beamed up at me. I waved to the audience, all of whom were standing, applauding me. In the royal box I could hear Harry hollering his praises of my performance. After several minutes of this, someone from the orchestra handed me a microphone. “Thank you, thank you,” I bowed my head, humbled by the ovation. The applause quieted down and the audience sat. “I’ve thought a lot about what I wanted to say tonight, and I’ve decided to keep it short.” Scanning the crowd, I knew that Bianca and Ava (who was by now more of a friend than employee) were out there, somewhere, probably with Pippa. And I knew that Kate, Will, Harry, and his dad and step-mother were up in the royal box. “I’ve been with this organization for ten years. And…” I had to stop and clear my throat. “And I think about all of the wonderful things that have happened to me, and all of the amazing people that I’ve met. And none of that would have happened if it hadn’t been for the Royal Ballet Company. So thank you.” Roaring applause broke out again and I smiled and waved to the crowd. I was glad that the curtain dropped before the tears started running down my face. 

I wasn’t sure how they got there so quickly, but Ava, Pippa, Bianca, Marcus, and the entire royal family walked into my dressing room, all talking over each other about the performance, and me, and anything else families talked about. Laughing, I welcomed them all in, curtseying to Harry’s father. “Hello you,” I greeted Harry when he wrapped an arm around my shoulders from behind me.

Kissing my ear, he murmured, “You were beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I smiled at him before getting out of the makeup chair and greeting them all.

“Roxanna, darling, you were delightful,” Charles told me, taking my hand in earnest. “How come I’ve hardly seen you dance, in all these years?”

Blushing, I admitted, “I was too shy to let you.”

“How are you coping?” Kate asked. 

I heard a pop as Marcus opened the bottle of champagne he’d brought in earlier. “I’m fine,” I assured her. When she gave me a doubtful look, I repeated, “I’m _fine_. Really.”

All of us chatted for a minute before Charles looked at his watch and informed the Royals that they had to get going to Sandringham. Harry told them he’d follow them in a moment and asked the others if he could speak to me alone. They obeyed and left the room. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Shrugging, I tried to explain. “Happy and sad at the same time.” Didn’t everyone feel like the holidays were bittersweet after the age of eleven?

Kissing my forehead, Harry told me, “I wish I could be there tonight.”

“It’s all right,” I shook my head.

“Call me when you land, yeah?” he asked, squeezing my hand. I nodded and wrapped my arms around his neck, suddenly not wanting him to leave. Harry hugged me back. “I’ll see you in Africa, darling. It won’t be long. And you’ll have Pippa and B and Ava and Marcus tonight.” I hugged him closer, feeling tears spring to my eyes. “Fox, my darling, please don’t get upset,” he requested, wiping the tears off my face with his thumb.

“I’m not,” I lied. “Really, I’m not.”

Taking my face in his hands, Harry placed a kiss on my mouth. “I love you very much.”

“I love you,” I told him, and gave his hand a squeeze.

As soon as he left, Ava, B, Marcus, and Pippa came back in. Ava, Marcus, and Pippa subtly went over to the clothes rack where my dress for the party was hanging up, while B came up to my vanity and started opening my makeup pallets. “Are you angry?”

I thought about it for a while, not sure if I was or not. I didn’t want to answer her untruthfully, but at the moment, I wasn’t. “I don’t think so, not yet at least.”

“We’ll have a fun time at the party,” she assured me. 

“I know. Can I just be alone for a minute?” I asked. Bianca nodded before gesturing for the other girls and Marcus to come with her. They left the room and I looked at my reflection in the mirror for a few minutes. There were things there that hadn’t been ten years ago, like the lightest trace of laugh lines at the corner of my mouth and eyes. This person staring back at me in the mirror had seen things – a life-threatening drug addiction, a best friend killing herself for her bust line, deployments to an active war zone. Through all of those things, the one constant in my life had been dancing. Now that was gone. Before I could try and control it, I had crumbled and broken down, letting out loud, wailing sobs. _I want Harry_ , I thought, as I usually did when I was this upset about something. Automatically, my hand started reaching for my phone.

“I’ve just left you a moment ago,” Harry answered fondly.

“I know,” I sobbed, “but I’m upset now.”

“Oh, my darling, please don’t cry.” When I couldn’t obey this request, Harry tried a new tactic. “Change is always scary, and sad. But you have a lot to look forward to.” I just kept crying and heard Harry sigh. “I hate to think that this is all my fault.”

At this, I finally sniffled and calmed down enough to give him a real answer. “No, it’s – it’s – not,” I assured him, and it really wasn’t. In the best of circumstances, I’d have a few more years of dancing before I had to retire, anyway. Harry hadn’t forced me to do anything. I was the one who had told him that I was ready after the accident, I was the one who had retired, it had ultimately been my choice. “Tell me about the future. Like you used to do with the Surrey house.”

I heard the smile in Harry’s voice as he proceeded to tell me, like spinning out a fairy tale, what would happen in both the near and distant future. We would get engaged, with Harry getting down on one knee and showing me an obscenely big diamond. We would plan our wedding, with help from Harry’s family and my own. It would be a huge, romantic affair watched by millions of people all over the world, attended by the Beckhams, the Obamas, Elton John. We’d spend the next two years touring the world, seeing the jungles in South America, staying in lavish hotels on the continent, dancing with natives in Oceania, and attending premiers and formal functions back at home. Then we’d settle into an apartment at KP, where we’d spend every waking moment (which I thought was mostly wishful thinking for Harry) trying to have a baby. At some point, we’d be successful in that venture, and we’d have a whole troop of red-headed children. “Are you feeling better?” he finally asked.

Laughing through my tears, I surprised myself by answering in the affirmative. “Yes, much.”

“Good. I love you Roxanna.”

“I love you, too,” I told him before we hung up. I wiped my eyes and opened the door so that Ava could finish getting me ready for the party.


	119. Next Year All Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Hours later I boarded a plane with a higher blood-alcohol level than probably should have been allowed. As soon as we took off, I was out like a light, and slept almost the entire way back to the States. Before we landed, I got the chance to wash my face and freshen up, which I was grateful for because when I got off the plane and through customs I was assaulted by paparazzi. Behind my sunglasses, I rolled my eyes. Didn’t they have something better to do? It was Christmas! Shouldn’t they be home with their families?

When I left the airport, I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cold air and car exhaust that always reminded me of winter in Jersey. A car with blacked out windows pulled up to the curb and a man got out to take my suitcase. “Have a nice flight, Miss DeLaSearle?”

“I did, thank you,” I smiled at him, feeling guilty that he had to drive me around on Christmas morning. Consoling myself with the thought that maybe he was Jewish, I got in the back seat of the car as it pulled away from the flashing cameras and headed onto the turnpike.

By the time we reached my mom’s house, the sun had fully risen. I knew that inside, Eddie was probably waking everyone up so he could unwrap his presents. Giving the driver a huge tip to compensate for the fact that I was interrupting his holiday, I wheeled my suitcase up the front steps and rang the doorbell. I heard feet pounding to the front door and instantly recognized them as Eddie’s. No one else was ever that excited to see me. “Hey you,” I smiled at him, hugging him with the arm that wasn’t holding the suitcase.

“Aunt Roxy’s here!” Eddie proclaimed to the house.

“Is your mom up?” I asked him. Nodding, he informed me that he’d woken up his parents just moments ago. “Well I’m sure they loved that.” I left my suitcase in the living room before heading to the kitchen with him. As usual on Christmas morning, my mom was making pancakes. “Hey Mom.”

“Roxy!” she hugged me. “When did you get in?”

“Just a second ago,” I told her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Where’s Harry?” Eddie asked.

Smiling at him, I told him, “He couldn’t come on this trip, but he got you a Christmas present.”

Eddie immediately started interrogating me about what it was. Laughing, I told him that it was a surprise and he’d get it as soon as his parents were downstairs. “Pancakes?” my mom offered.

“Duh."  
She gave me a flat look and flipped a pancake. I was reaching above her to get a mug for coffee when she muttered, “Did Harry get anyone _else_ a Christmas present? A _diamond_ Christmas present, maybe?”

“Mom,” I warned her.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“I told you, he’s not going to propose until after the new year, and it’s only Christmas,” I reminded her.

“Who’s proposing?” Grace asked, yawning and entering the kitchen in her bathrobe. 

Ray followed her in sweats and grabbed Eddie in a headlock, ruffling his brown curls. “Is Roxy engaged?” he asked.

Laughing, I shook my head. “No one is engaged. Well…I’m sure some people are, just not me.”

After breakfast we all headed into the living room to unwrap presents. I unpacked mine and Harry’s from my suitcase and handed them out. “Really?” Grace asked sarcastically when Eddie unwrapped a tiny, blunt sword. It was a replica of the one Harry got from the Blues & Royals. Harry had gotten him a plastic one the first time he'd come to Jersey after Christmas, but this one was a bit more intricate. Eddie was ten now. I smirked and shrugged, telling her I was purely decorative. When Eddie was distracted with a video game, I curled my legs up underneath me on the couch and sipped my coffee. “So, how is this all going to work?” Grace asked.

“All what?” I asked, running my hands through my hair. I craved a shower after that plane ride.

“The engagement and the wedding,” she answered, obviously annoyed.

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged. “You know, like a normal wedding…that seven hundred people I don’t know will be invited to.”

“Seven _hundred_?” my mom asked.

I nodded slowly. “That’s how many Will and Kate said they had to invite to theirs.”

“But you’re just marrying Prince Harry,” Grace offered.

Glaring at her, I asked, “What do you mean ‘just’?”

Shrugging, she continued. “Well Harry’s wedding won’t be as important as Will and Kate’s.”

“Grace,” my mom said in a warning tone.

“No, continue Grace, since you’ve been living in London and dating him for ten years and have a close personal relationship with the royal family, why don’t _you_ tell _me_ how it’s going to work?” She glared at me before getting up off the couch to refill her coffee. 

My mom sighed, probably amazed that Grace and I could still fight this much after twenty-seven years. “Roxanna, can you explain how it _is_ going to work? I’m a little confused.”

“All right, well, after we get engaged we’ll announce it, and I think we’re planning on a June wedding.”

“June?” Ray asked. “That’s not a lot of time. When Gracie and I got engaged, there were some venues that were booked for years.”

“That’s kind of an advantage to marrying into the firm,” I shrugged. “Mom, we actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Frowning, she asked, “About what?” Grace joined me back on the couch and I wished she hadn’t. I didn’t need her sitting next to me, scoffing while I told Mom that Harry and I had discussed her to moving to London, and how stupid of an idea she thought it was.  
Slowly, I tried to explain it to her. “Um…I was thinking that you could make some more trips to London while we’re planning the wedding to help, and then I thought it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for you to keep going back and forth, and when I get pregnant I’ll obviously want you there when the baby is born. So I was thinking…Harry and I were thinking maybe it would be easier if you just…moved to London.”

The room was silent except for Eddie’s video game. After a long pause, Grace asked in a deadpan, “…What?”

“Shut up, Grace.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Grace, can you let me talk to Roxy about this without interruption, please?” my mom asked, clearly exasperated by our bickering. Grace rolled her eyes and closed her mouth and my mom turned to me. “Let me get this right: you and Harry want me to move to London?” I nodded slowly. “You don’t expect me to make a decision now, do you?”

“Take as much time as you need,” I told her, shaking my head. 

“Your reasoning is that you want her to help you when you have a baby? Don’t you have people you pay for that?” Grace asked, practically snarling. Sensing that things were about to get awkward, Ray suggested that he and Eddie go into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. 

When they were out of the room, I turned to Grace. “ _What_ is your problem?”

“Besides the fact that you’re being a selfish brat right now?” she snapped.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Girls, let’s not do this. It’s Christmas,” my mom tried to intervene.

“How am I being a selfish brat?” I asked Grace.

“By expecting Mom to move to a different _continentmight_ have a baby in the distant future. Did it occur to you that _I_ have a kid?”

I shook my head and gave her a questioning look. “Grace, you live in Boston. Mom’s clearly not helping you with Eddie.”

“I helped in the beginning,” my mom pointed out. “Anyway, girls, please. We can talk more about this later.”

“Fine. I’m going to take a shower.” I was thankful to have a good excuse. While I shampooed, I thought more and more about what Grace had said, and got even angrier with her. My mom used to tell us – when we were fighting really bad – that we should take a break and then try and resolve the fight later, but I’d found that all that did was give me more time to harbor my anger, and nothing had changed between then and now, apparently. What was her issue? According to her, was my marriage unimportant, or was it so important that I was entitled to nannies? Why did she even have an opinion? This had nothing to do with her! And, not for nothing, but I had just _retired_ , and _no one_ had asked me how I felt about all that!

Getting out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and did some quick math to figure out what time it was in England. I wanted to call Harry, but I wasn’t sure if he was still at church or doing something with his grandmother. There were two knocks on the door before Grace came in without permission, which didn’t surprise me at all. We weren’t close, but it was a small house. There were times when I needed to be in the shower and she needed to be using the mirror. We’d never been shy around each other in that way. “What do _you_ want?” I asked, putting on my bathrobe and twisting the towel around my hair. 

Grace shut the door behind her and sat on my bed. “Why didn’t you ask _me_ to go to London?”

I blinked a couple of times. “Are…are you serious?”

She chuckled at my response. “Yes! I could help with the wedding.”

“You have a job, Grace,” I reminded her.

“Mom has a job.”

“Okay, but Mom can retire. Also, why on earth would you want to do this?”

She shrugged. “Who wouldn’t want to help plan a royal wedding?”

Arching an eyebrow, I glared at her in the mirror, letting my hair out of its towel. “I thought it wasn’t important.”

“I said it wasn’t _as_ important,” Grace dodged her way around an apology. “I was just asking if it was going to be as huge as Will and Kate’s was.” I didn’t bother pointing out that she was _actually_ just being a bitch, and she went on. “Anyway, of course I’d want to be there for all of it. You’re my little sister.” Okay, either Grace was seriously ill or she was a pod person. Slowly, I turned around, and I must have been giving her a suspicious look because she laughed again. “I’m just saying that I would like to help you, _if_ you need my help.”

“Okay,” I nodded slowly, "but what about Mom?”

Taking a deep breath, Grace thought about her answer before telling me. “I just don’t see why you think Mom would want to uproot her entire life and move across an ocean.”

“I don’t _know_ if it’s something she’ll want to do, which is why I _asked_ her.” I was starting to get pissed again when my phone rang. Holding her hands up, Grace told me she’d let me take the call and left the room. “Hey. Thank God you called, Grace and I were about to go a couple rounds.”

“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t.” I explained the argument to Harry, and told him about asking my mom if she’d be up for a move across the pond. “Anyway, she said she needed time to decide, but I think you should talk to her about it.”

“ _Me_?” Harry asked. “Why?”

“Because I don’t really know how to explain it to her,” I offered. “You might be able to do that better.”

“I thought you just told her that you wanted her to help with the wedding and the kids.”

Running a hand through my wet curls, I admitted, “I did, but…there’s more than that.” Harry waited quietly for me to explain. “This isn’t insignificant, Harry. I want my mom there. I don’t know how it’s going to go with your family. What if we don’t get along? Camilla’s not exactly subtle about how she feels about me. It’s just going to be a lot to take on and…I want my mom.”

Harry chuckled at how pitiful I sounded. “Why don’t you tell her that?”

“I will, but you know how much she likes you…”

He laughed again and we talked about what time I’d be picked up for my flight to Lesotho. “I do wish you’d consider flying private, my darling.”

“Absolutely not!” I scorned. “Why don’t I just stop recycling and leave all of my water running all the time?”

I could practically hear Harry rolling his eyes. “You _do_ know that we’ll be flying private once we’re married?”

“Oh, really? Hm…then I have to re-think this whole matrimony thing,” I smiled. “Is Kate there?”

“If we could just have _one_ conversation without you wanting to talk to Kate,” Harry jokingly lamented, before handing the phone over to her. She and I talked about our gifts to each other for a few minutes before I told her to wish the family a happy Christmas and hung up. I held the phone close to my chest for a moment after I hung up and pouted to myself. _I want Harry._

***

Later that night, Eddie was passed out, probably crashed from a sugar rush. Mom, Grace, Ray and I were watching _It’s A Wonderful Life_ in the living room. “This’ll be your last Christmas at home,” my mom noted.

I nodded slowly. “Next year I’ll have to start going to Sandringham. But we can be here for New Years. Or…anywhere, if you decide to move.”

My mom took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “Roxy, I don’t know.”

“It’s a big change,” I admitted, "but Kate’s mom is always around, and I think she’s a huge help for her. And, to be honest, I’m kind of afraid.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Afraid of a little old lady?”

“You haven’t met her! She can be scary!” I insisted, even though we were all laughing. “I’m just going to have to do a lot of new things, and I’ll want my mom there.”

“Sweetheart, I won’t have any idea about any of that stuff, either,” she reminded me. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

I shrugged. “It’s not about that. Well, it’s a little about that. It’s just that…” I didn’t know how to put what I was about to say in a nicer way, so I decided just to go for it. “Sometimes, Harry’s family does things that seem completely insane to me. And I just want to have my mom there to tell me that it’s not me, it’s them. And to say, ‘Roxy, stop acting like a spoiled brat, you’re from New Jersey’.”

“I told you I should go,” Grace muttered. “I’d be great at that.”

My mom sighed and told me she’d have to think about it more. “So Rox, who’s gonna come to the wedding?” Ray asked.

I couldn’t help but grin. “The Beckhams, and I hope the Obamas. Um…Elton John will be there, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Grace smirked.

“Do you know where you’ll get married?” my mom asked. “Will and Kate’s wedding was beautiful in the Abbey.”

“It was,” I agreed, “but I think Harry and I are going to choose somewhere else.”

My mom nodded. “It would be hard to try and top that.”

Trying not to start stressing out completely, I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. She ran her fingers through my hair in the same calming way she’d done my whole life. I suddenly realized how important it was that she move to London.

“So Rox,” Grace broke into my thoughts. “Have you thought about a dress? Or are you just gonna use sheets like we used to when we were little?”

“Oh, I was gonna use the Little Mermaid ones. What do you think?”

Grace snickered before agreeing with me. “Very avant garde.”


	120. Wedding Bells?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Okay, bye guys. Come here, Eddie,” I demanded, reaching out to hug him.

“Oh, brother. Look,” he rolled his eyes, pointing to photographers who had congregated in the airport. Security tried to force them out, but they were outnumbered. “Isn’t that annoying, Aunt Rock?” he asked. 

I shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Eddie scrunched his face up, clearly unsatisfied with this answer, but he hugged me anyway. I planted a huge kiss on his face before hugging Ray and Grace. “If you need anything, call me,” she insisted.

I promised her I would and turned to my mom. “All right well…I don’t really know how or when this is all going to go down, but I really hope you’ll think about what I said. This is an important time in my life. I want my mom,” I finished with a shrug.

To my horror and embarrassment, my mom’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll think about it, honey. Whatever happens, you’ll be fine.” She hugged me before composing herself. “Take lots of pictures!”

“I will,” I told her.

“Bring me a lion!” Eddie requested as I walked through security. I waved to him and told him I’d try my best.

Having Harry make my travel plans had its perks. I got to go through the first class security line, and I got to wait in the first class clubhouse, which was really just a bar. I appreciated this, but felt sort of guilty for it. It wasn’t like I’d done anything to actually deserve any of this - I was just dating a rich guy. Although I did appreciate the relative privacy of the clubhouse. In the airport, there were far too many opportunities for someone to gawk at me. I wasn’t being a snob or a diva and insisting that nobody look me in the eye or anything, it was just always awkward. What was I supposed to do? Or say? 

Since my plan was to have a cocktail, pop a Xanax, and sleep until I woke up in Lesotho, I made a beeline for the bar.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, looking up from where he was wiping off a spot on the countertop.

“Vodka tonic, please, twist of lemon,” I requested. On the way to the clubhouse I’d stopped and picked up a couple of trashy magazines to read. I chewed on my bottom lip as I scanned the cover of People. There was a small picture of Harry and I in a little square, with a tiny yellow headline reading, “Wedding Bells for Roxy and Harry?” _Damn._

“Wow. On the cover of a magazine that _you’re_ reading?” the bartender smirked, sliding my drink across the bar.

I snickered. “Look, I have to find out when I’m getting married.” Sipping my drink, I scanned the article, but found mostly the same things they’d been saying since I announced my retirement. There were, however, a few newer developments I was surprised to be reading about.

_“A source close to the couple reports that Harry and Roxy have spoken to Roxy’s mother about making a move to the U.K. ’They’re very interested, Roxy in particular, about having her there to help plan the wedding. And when they have children, she’ll be there to help them out with that.’_

_This, of course, is all speculation until Roxy makes the trip to Africa. Another source in the Palace says that it will be a deal breaker for Harry if she doesn’t fall in love with Africa the way he has. ’It’s very important to him. He has his charities in Lesotho, and he’s spent a lot of time in some other countries there as well. I can’t imagine Roxy not loving it, but if she didn’t, I wouldn’t want to be around for that fight.’_

_Roxy and the Prince are scheduled to be spending the New Year in Africa, which is also the place where Harry’s older brother, William, proposed to his wife. Chances of a proposal aren’t slim, especially with William and Catherine so happily married. A friend of Catherine’s tells us that the couple is impatient for Harry to pop the question. ’They love Roxanna dearly, the four of them all get on so well. It’s about time for another royal wedding!’”_

I glared at the article. Who were these “unnamed sources?” And why was this article scarily accurate? Huffing, I was about to shut the magazine and chuck it somewhere, but the inset caught my eye. There were a couple of smaller pictures of Harry and I that the paparazzi had gotten – one on our first date ten years ago, another at the Concert for Diana when we’d gotten back together, another of Harry, Will, Kate, and I skiing on holiday a few years back and the fourth was the one of Harry planting a kiss on me in front of Boots when he’d forgotten his razor. The pictures made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and I blushed, even though I was alone. If I was someone else, I’d probably be wondering when we were getting married, too.

My phone buzzed in my purse and I answered it. “Hey. I was just reading about us in _People_.”

“Yeah? Anything interesting?” Harry asked.

“No. Except for the fact that they apparently know all of the inner workings of our relationship. How do they find this stuff out?”

He shrugged. “We have a staff of hundreds of people in properties all over the world. Things get out.”

“But that’s the thing – things _don’t_ get out.” I knew this sounded ridiculous, so I elaborated. “Nothing was leaked about Kate’s dress until the night before her wedding. You kept rehab and a deployment a secret. No one knew about the drugs for years!”

“Yes, but we _are_ getting engaged. We can’t keep something that’s actually happening a secret. It’s not like we’re trying very hard to in the first place. You retired, so that sent up a flag, and now the paps are on the lookout for anything else suspicious. Believe me, if you spend the rest of your life trying to fight it, you’ll drive yourself mad.”

“Aren’t I already?” Harry chuckled and I listened as an overhead speaker started calling out numbers and destinations. “Oh, they’re calling my flight, I should go.”

“All right, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you.” I hung up, tipped the bartender (even though the drink was free) and headed to my gate. When I got settled in my seat, I popped a Xanax, closed the doors to my cabin, and passed out.

***

The first thing I noticed was that it was hot. It was also sunny. Out of necessity, I practically dove into my carry-on and frantically searched for my sunglasses. To get to Lesotho, I’d had to connect and get onto one of those small, tin can planes that was roughly the size of a school bus, the kind that always made me clutch to the arms of my seat until we had come to a full and complete stop on the runway, and that was when we _weren’t_ in a third world country, landing on a jet way that was made out of gravel, coming into an airport that looked like the garage to my mom’s house. 

The flight attendant gave me a welcoming smile and told me that I could take off my seatbelt. Nervously, I did, and stood up in the narrow aisle. It felt so good to stand! “I think the rest of your party is here,” she told me, pointing out the window. I followed her gesture and almost gasped. Harry was standing up in an open topped Jeep while another man I didn’t know drove. The Jeep had picked up tons of dirt and dust behind it. It looked like the cavalry riding in during a western movie. 

Harry waved his arms like a mad man and I blushed before turning to the flight attendant. “Sorry,” I apologized for his outrageous behavior.

“No apologies necessary. We love to have him here,” she assured me.

I shook my head and got off the plane. Surprisingly enough, the heat wasn’t as assaulting as I thought it would be. It was hot, but it was a dry heat, and after experiencing summers in the humid swamp that was New Jersey, I appreciated that. 

The Jeep screeched to a halt and Harry jumped out. “You’re here!” he exclaimed, meeting me at the bottom of the stairs of the plane and kissing me on the cheek.

“I am,” I nodded, and then gave him a quizzical look. Part of me wanted to laugh at how different he looked, but I knew he’d take offense so I held it in. Harry’s face was tan and full of freckles, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for days. I didn’t mind the look at all. It reminded me of when he’d come back from Afghanistan. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course darling, don’t be ridiculous,” he jokingly scolded me with a tap on my bottom. While we’d been reuniting, the driver of the Jeep had gotten my bags and placed them in the back. Taking my hand, Harry led me over to the car. “Tony, this is Roxy. Roxy, this is Tony, my right-hand man when I’m in Lesotho.”

“Lovely to meet you,” I greeted him with a handshake.

He smiled at me, looking just as mischievous as Harry always did. “Don’t worry, miss. His Royal Highness says we won’t drive so fast with you in the car.”

“His Royal Highness knows what’s good for him,” I agreed. 

Tony chuckled and we all got into the Jeep. “Now strap in, Fox,” Harry reminded me, taking the front while I climbed into the back. He handed me a sweater and warned me, “We’ll be going up to the mountains, so here, take this if you get cold.” I did, even though it was impossible to imagine being cold, but Harry was the expert.

As Tony took off in the Jeep, I thought that if this speed was slower, I couldn’t imagine how they’d been driving before. It seemed like with every sharp turn we took (and there were many), we were on two wheels, and more than once I was convinced that I'd come dangerously close to being decapitated by a low-hanging branch. Harry was right, though, about it getting colder as we sped up into the mountain, but I could hardly focus on the temperature, not when there was so much to take in, like the monkey I saw hanging from a tree, seeming totally undisturbed as we passed. I made a mental note to ask Harry about it later, as we were driving much to fast for me to be composed enough to form a sentence. I also made a mental note to ask where Tony learned to drive, so I could suggest they hire better instructors.

It was about an hour to the camp from the airport, although I wouldn’t have called it a camp. The word “camp” implies tents and sleeping bags and canteens of water. This camp was a huge house, with a wraparound porch, made out of wood. It was built on the edge of a valley in the mountains, and overlooked a plane of tall, wild grass and a long, narrow pond that was proof that a glacier had been there billions of years ago. Chuckling to myself, I thought that this was camping according to Royals, and got out of the Jeep. Harry wrapped an arm around my waist. “So. What do you think?”

“It’s amazing,” I answered honestly.

He grinned, obviously pleased. “I told you you’d love it.”

“You did,” I agreed. It was fun to see him this excited about something. Harry always loved showing me things from his world – he had been excited for me to come to Will and Kate’s wedding, and to show me around Balmoral - but this was different. This was something that he felt passionately about, something that he did for others, and something that he loved to do because it connected him to his mother. 

“Come on,” he encouraged, grabbing my hand and taking off up the stairs. When he threw the door open, I was both shocked and not at all shocked at the same time. In the center of the cabin was a huge bed, covered in white sheets and a white down comforter. Above it hung an insect net, which had me only slightly put off, but the cleanliness of the entire place convinced me that it wouldn’t be needed. There was a flat-screen TV and a chaise lounge, as well as a dressing screen and a small table, on top of which was a tiny tray of tea. Harry showed me to the bathroom, which had a massage table, because apparently there were people on call who could give us a full spa treatment. The shower was one of those that spray out from all directions, and there was an old fashioned, claw-footed bathtub in the center of the room. Before I even had a chance to take it all in, Harry yanked me over to the other side of the cabin, where there was a breakfast nook with a long dining room table and dozens of vases of flowers. The room smelled delicious, and the windows were screened from the floor to the ceiling, allowing light in. “Nice, yeah?” Harry asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

I shook my head. “I’m speechless.” Those were literally the only two words I could think of. He clapped, proud of himself, while behind him I noticed Tony placing my suitcase and carry-on next to the bed. Taking a step closer to him, I asked in a whisper, “But…Harry, is this…right?” 

“Is what right?” he asked, confused.

“To be…to be having all of this. It seems tactless,” I admitted.

Harry placed a hand on my shoulder. “Once you see the center, you’ll understand.” If it was supposed to be an explanation, it was a bad one, because I still didn’t get it, and I still felt awkward staying in this gorgeous camp while I knew a few miles away there were children suffering in poverty. 

“Mr. Harry,” Tony cleared his throat. Harry and I turned to him. “Do you and Miss Roxy want you to transport me to the center now?”

Harry looked at me. “Do you want to go now, or are you tired?”

Now that he mentioned it…“Would it be okay if I took a little nap?” I asked.

He kissed my forehead. “Of course,” he said, and then pulled his wallet out of his pocket. I saw him hand a couple of bills to Tony, but I didn’t know how the currency worked. I assumed it was nothing stingy – Harry never was. Tony shook his hand before heading outside back into the Jeep. I went into the bathroom and washed plane off my face, drying it off with a ridiculously fluffy towel, monogrammed with my initials. How did they even know them? I picked up the other towels to find that half were emblazoned with HRH, obviously for Harry. A tall, light purple orchid towered over the countertop, leaning above a basket full of skin care products by some African-based company. This was ridiculous.

When I came out of the bathroom, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, texting someone. I stripped down to my underwear before opening his rucksack. “What are you doing in there?” he asked, jumping up from the bed, dashing over to me in one second and yanking the rucksack zipper closed.

“I just wanted one of your shirts to sleep in,” I explained, holding my hands up in self-defense.

“Well…go over there and I’ll get one for you,” Harry instructed, gesturing back to the bed.

I narrowed my eyes at him before asking, “Do you have porn in there?”

Blushing, Harry turned around and muttered, “None of your business,” before digging into his rucksack for a shirt. I rolled my eyes and waited as he fished me out a whire v-neck. When he threw it over to me, I pulled it over my head, took my bra off, and crawled into bed. “Are you going to lie down?” I asked him.

“I should call my dad and Will, let them know you’re here,” Harry explained, holding up his phone. “I’ll wake you in an hour.” I pouted at him and he chuckled, leaning down to give me a kiss. “I’m very happy that you’re here.”

I smiled and snuggled into the pillow. “I’m happy to be here.” It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.


	121. Forget Me Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When Harry shook me awake an hour later, I felt deliciously refreshed. “Hello,” I greeted him with a sly smile.

He gave me a kiss on the mouth before dropping more kisses behind my ear and down my neck. “I know that smile,” he softly whispered in my ear. I reached up, feeling my hands up along his arms, his shoulders, his back, feeling all his muscles there. Harry and I had been together for so long that sometimes I forgot how strange this all was for me. I’d had no serious boyfriends before Harry, and none of the casual dates I’d gone on had been with anyone half as attractive as he was. The way he made my stomach tickle and my heart trip distracted me from his position in life. If Harry had been any other normal human being, my heart would still have been pounding this hard to be with him, I was sure.

“Wait,” I pressed lightly on his chest. Harry peeled his lips off of me and, slightly out of breath, asked what was the matter. “Harry!” I scolded. He swore under his breath before remembering that we didn’t have any protection (I was on the pill, of course, but we couldn't have even a little bit of a chance of a slip up or else all Hell would break loose) and getting up to head over to the rucksack. “I could have just gotten one myself, you weirdo,” I muttered under my breath when he got back in bed.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he jokingly scolded me, biting slightly on my collarbone. I squealed and giggled, pinning his hands behind him and straddling him. He shut his eyes and grinned and my heart tripped.

***

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here,” I chided him when I came out of the bathroom. He’d lit up, still lying naked under the sheets.

“I’m not allowed to do a lot of the things that I do,” he noted, and I had to agree with him. I got into bed next to him and lay down for a minute. “Do you remember our first date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered slowly, my memory jogging back to when we'd gone through a roped off area of the Tower of London. I'd asked Harry if it was allowed and he's answered, "Probably not, but people generally let me do these things." Over the past ten years, he'd proven himself right about a hundred times. “Why are you asking?”

He shrugged. “I just keep thinking back to what I said that day. How I come from a long line of cheating men.” He’d been showing me the daffodils that grew in Regent’s Park. The story went that King Charles II had been out picking flowers for his mistress, and his wife had caught him. She’d ordered all of the flowers be pulled up from the park, and now only the daffodils grew there, wild, year after year. Ever since he’d told me that story, Harry always got me daffodils when he got me flowers. I remembered him leaning over and admitting that monogamy probably wasn’t in his genes, and I remembered thinking that it was a pretty intimate thing to be telling a total stranger.

Propping myself up on an elbow, I looked down at him. “What made you think of that?” I asked softly, brushing some fiery red hair off his forehead, trying not to panic. If Harry was going to propose to me here, which I and everyone else thought he would, or if he was planning on it any time soon at all, the fact that he was suddenly thinking about his family's bad track record with monogamy was extremely concerning. 

Taking a puff of his cigarette, he responded, “Will told me he thought of it a lot before he proposed to Kate.” It wasn’t really an answer to the question, but I figured he was going somewhere with this, so I let him continue. He turned to look at me. “When I’m with you, I think of how my father could have done that to my mother. If I ever hurt you in that way, Roxy, I could never forgive myself.”

“You won’t,” I assured him, shaking my head.

“Haven’t I?”

I bit down on my bottom lip. We hadn’t even been dating for a year when we’d broken up during my first year at the Royal Ballet Academy. It had been prompted mostly by the fact that I was feeling a lot of pressure from my instructors, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for our relationship to get any more serious, but I’d also been concerned about Harry’s drinking. I had initiated the break up, and Harry begrudgingly agreed, because what other choice did he have? Two weeks after our conversation, though, he’d showed up at the academy outside my dorm building, refusing to leave until he spoke to me. When I’d gone down to meet him, I immediately noticed that he was drunk and had urged him to go home. Harry had grabbed me and pulled me close to him, trying to kiss me even though I pulled away. When I struggled too much, Harry’s grasp on me got tighter. He’d pinned my arms down at my sides and held me against the car. If he hadn’t been so drunk, I probably wouldn’t have been able to yank myself out of his grip. 

I chose not to spend a lot of time thinking about how that could have ended. The way I saw it was that the Harry from back then was an entirely different Harry from the one I was looking at now. Harry the Addict and Sober Harry were two different people, and I’d been in different relationships with them. But...when I _did_ think back to that night, when I _did_ remember, I remembered how scared I’d felt, and how panicked I’d been the moment I realized that he was stronger than me. “That was a long time ago,” I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “You were a different person then.”

Reaching up, Harry wrapped a hand around the base of my neck and pulled me down to him for a sweet, tender kiss. “I’m a different person now because of you.”

“No, because of you,” I insisted. “Whatever happens with us, Harry, you are strong enough to keep being this person.”

Smirking, he raised an eyebrow. “You getting cold feet on me DeLaSearle?”

“Me? Cold feet? Never,” I grinned, and gave him another kiss.

When I pulled away, he looked surprised, before finally deciding, “All right, one more round, and then we really have to go.” I giggled as he grabbed me and pulled me down next to him.

*** 

“Thanks Tony,” Harry said, patting him on the shoulder. Tony hopped out of the Jeep and Harry turned to me in the back seat. I was distracted by the building we’d just pulled up in front of, which looked like a series of tiny Monopoly houses: four white walls with two large windows. There were five of them, all in a circle, connected by wooden walkways. “Roxy,” Harry reached out to me to get my attention and I turned to him. “Before we go in there," he gestured to the Sentebale building, "I want you to know that…some of these children have been very badly wounded. Some are missing arms or limbs or half their faces. It might be hard for you to take all of it in. If it is, just tell me, and Tony will guide you out, alright?’

Swallowing, I nodded. “How do you do it?” I asked.

“I put on a smile when I’m in there, and when I’m done I call my family, or you,” he explained. There had been a handful of times when I’d received calls from Harry in the middle of the night. He’d ask me to tell him the mundane details about my day. I think it made him feel better to hear something stupid and mindless after feeling so much for so long. “But it’s not easy.”

I took a deep breath before nodding. “All right. I’m ready.”

He helped me out of the Jeep and I brushed myself off. Since this wasn't a press photocall, like Harry sometimes did on these trips, I was wearing some running shorts, flip flops, and a very breathable Arsenal jersey. His warning was making me nervous, and my palms started to sweat as a woman in a denim jumper greeted us. She shook Harry’s hand and curtsied to him before he gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “Roxanna, this is Miss Abebe,” he introduced me. “She’s the headmistress here.”

“Hi, I’m Roxy,” I shook her hand. She was incredibly tall and had bags under her eyes. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what being headmistress here required. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, miss,” Miss Abebe smiled at me. “His Royal Highness has done wonderful things here.”

“Well that’s rare for him,” I assured her. Harry rolled his eyes and Miss Abebe showed us into the largest building of the school. One half of it was a very toned down version of a teacher's lounge. There weren't couches and Keurig machines, but there were a couple of metal desks, each with desktop computers on them. On the other side of the wall was the cafeteria, which was furnished with several long picnic tables. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Miss Abebe admitted, even though to me it looked like your standard school cafeteria, just a bit smaller, “but the children here are lucky to get lunch. I’m sure it’s the only time some of them eat all day.” With a grin, she added, “We make sure it’s healthy, and that there’s always enough so they can have seconds.”

I smiled, feeling a pang of guilt about our huge cabin, as Miss Abebe led the way across a walkway into another building. We were hardly in the room when the children leapt out from behind their desks and surrounded us _en masse_. I couldn’t help but laugh as their tiny faces beamed at us and their tiny hands reached up. It only took me a moment to realize that they were all shouting, “Prince Harry! Prince Harry!” I gave him an impressed look and he replied with a cocky, “I’m kind of a big deal here.” After a moment of celebration, Harry clapped his hands together. “In your seats, guys! In your seats!” The kids immediately dispersed, sitting back behind their desks. I didn’t even notice that there was a teacher in the room until Harry shook hands with her. She gave a curtsy as well, although Harry didn’t seem to notice and greeted her more informally. “Roxanna, this is Miss Soloman, she’s another teacher here.”

I shook her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” she nodded at me before gesturing back to the kids. “We were just working on our reading.”

“Who likes reading in here?” Harry asked. The kids practically tore themselves out of their chairs when they threw their hands in the air. “Who likes it the _most_?” he asked, and they all started shouting, “Me! Me! Me!” 

I laughed and asked, “Who wants to read to me?” I was met with a chorus of, “I do! I do!”s and looked to the teacher to choose.

“Whoever can sit still and be the quietest can read to Miss Roxy,” she said, and in a second all of the kids were completely calm and quiet. “Timothy, why don’t you read to Miss Roxy?”  
A boy in the front row with knobby knees stood at the side of his desk and looked down at his book. He read to me a paragraph or two (from a book about a boy getting chocolate freckles) before Miss Soloman told him he’d done a good job and he sat back down, beaming with pride. Before the teacher could call on another student, a girl with her hair knotted in braided pigtails shot out of her seat. “I want to read to Miss Roxy and Prince Harry!” she pleaded.

“I said you could if you were quiet,” the teacher scolded her. Pouting, she sat back in her seat. Miss Soloman took pity. “Fine Charlotte, you can read.”

Charlotte smiled and I realized that she was missing one of her two front teeth. She read a passage from the book, but when she was done, instead of sitting down she asked, “Are you a princess?”

“Charlotte!” her teacher reprimanded her.

“It’s all right,” I said, waving a hand. I was sure that Charlotte probably wasn’t the only one in the room wondering this. “I’m not a princess.”

“If you marry Prince Harry will you be a princess?”

“Um…yes,” I lied. It was easier than explaining to her that the titles didn’t work like that, and I’d most likely be the Duchess of Sussex. “But I used to be a ballerina.”

Charlotte gasped and her jaw dropped open wide. “Did you dance on your tippy toes?”

“Yup. Do you like to dance?” I asked her. She nodded vigorously. “Cool, me too.”

“At recess maybe Miss Roxy will let you show her some of our dances,” Miss Abebe suggested. 

Charlotte immediately started jumping up and down and begging Miss Abebe to let her to it, but eventually Miss Soloman told her to sit back down. “Okay, close your books, it’s time for math,” she instructed before writing out some simple equations on the chalkboard.

“I was never good at maths,” Harry confessed. “You must be _much_ better students than me.” Pointing at the chalkboard, he asked them to answer the addition for him. They all chorused the answers and after a few problems we told them what a good job they’d done. 

One child, apparently bored with the math, shot his hand up into the air. When Miss Soloman called his name, he asked, “Do you want to see our snake, Miss Roxy?”

“God, no,” I answered, a hand fluttering to my chest. At the kids' questioning looks, I blushed and confessed, “Miss Roxy is afraid of snakes.” The kids chorused, “NO!” and assured me that these were just friendly snakes, but I still declined. Harry, on the other hand, was not at all afraid to handle every snake and insect in the cage. The kids were only too delighted to show them off to him, and I smiled. I’d seen him with Georgie, but he was so good with children. _Lots_ of children. Not that these kids were difficult. They were all adorable and enthusiastic and _they’re all sick_ , I suddenly thought. Twenty years ago these children probably wouldn’t have even been alive, and even now, without Harry’s school, who knew…I shook my head and snapped out of it before I started to think too much and go into a full blown breakdown.  
Miss Abebe let us play with the critters and the kids for a bit longer before showing us into another building. The door to this one had a red cross on it, and Harry took my hand. “This is one of the infirmary buildings,” Miss Abebe told us. “There are two, and two dormitory buildings.” She looked back at me and seemed like she wanted to say something else, but was unable to find the words. When she eventually pushed the door open, I almost gasped, but not because of the horror inside. It suddenly looked like we’d walked onto the set of _Grey’s Anatomy_. There was state of the art medical equipment all around, huge bottles of hand sanitizer, four nurses and six doctors, and at least twenty beds, most of them occupied. “With the aid we receive from the Prince for Sentebale, we’re able to treat every student in the school using all of the newest medical advances.”

“Wow,” I breathed out, unable to reign in how impressed I was.

“The children come here for everything from a scraped knee to be fitted for a new prosthesis,” she told me. “They can receive antibiotics, medicines, even aspirin that they don’t have access to at home.” One of the doctors looked up and waved to Harry. With a comforting hand on my back, he excused himself to talk to the doctor. I knew what he was really doing - easing me into going it alone. Miss Abebe turned to me. “Would you like to meet some of the children?” she asked.

Gulping, I nodded. “Sure.” 

The first bed she led me over to was host to a girl who looked a year or two younger than Charlotte, from the schoolhouse. She was coloring and looked relatively healthy, except that she was hooked into an I.V. I looked to Miss Abebe for an explanation. She quietly informed me that the girl was named Angeli, and that her parents had walked for miles to bring her here. She was their oldest daughter, and the family didn’t grow enough food to feed everyone. Her parents were depriving themselves of as much as they could, but so was Angeli, to take care of the younger children. By the time her parents had heard of Harry’s school and decided to see if they could help Angeli, she was desperately malnourished, suffering from partial kidney failure. She’d been in the infirmary while she recovered, which would thankfully be any day now. When Miss Abebe finished the story that left me blinking back tears, Angeli looked up and held a crayon out to me. “Want to color?” she offered.

I smiled at her. “Sure,” I said, taking the green and sitting down next to her on the bed. “I love coloring. What are you drawing?”

“My house,” she told me. There were two taller objects that I could _just_ tell were supposed to be people. “That’s my mom and my dad, and those are my little brothers and sisters,” she pointed out the smaller figures. “Mama and Papa sent me here so I can get knowledge.”

“Do you like learning?” I asked her, coloring in some grass. Angeli nodded and I smiled. “What do you like learning the most?”

“Science,” she replied.

“Wow,” I said, impressed. 

Angeli looked up from her picture. “I want to learn so I can go to college in America.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. She was so young. I hadn’t even thought about college when I was that young. I probably hadn’t even known what college was. Harry joined us at that moment and spoke up for me. “Roxanna is from America,” he told her.

“You _are_?” she gasped. “I want to go to New York City.”

Despite the way my heart felt like it was being pulled apart, I laughed. “What do you know about New York City?”

Angeli rattled off a list of facts. They had the Subway, and Broadway, and Central Park. When I asked how she knew all that, she shrugged and matter of factly said, “I saw it on television,” gesturing to one of the TVs mounted on the infirmary wall. 

I laughed again and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, you keep studying and working hard in school and I’m sure you’ll be able to go to college anywhere you want, even New York City.”

Angeli already had it covered. “I’m going to go to Columbia Medical School to be a doctor.”

I smiled at her. “Doctor Angeli. Sounds good to me.” She giggled and Miss Abebe told her we’d be back tomorrow. “What will happen to the rest of her family?” I asked as we walked away from her bed. Miss Abebe shrugged but didn’t offer any more information. Harry reached for my hand as the headmistress pulled back the curtain of a sleeping boy who looked to be Eddie's age. I instinctively took a step back. The boy was hooked up to an IV, like Angeli, but he was also missing half of his left arm. Up and down his right one were furious red scars. His legs and bottoms of his feet had so much gauze on them I could hardly see any skin. I turned Miss Abebe who, looking tenderly down at the boy, told us, “This is our newest student, David. He stepped on a land mine.”

“Oh my God,” I let out, holding a hand to my mouth.

Harry placed a hand on the small of my back, a gesture I knew by now was what all of the Wales men used to be supportive of their spouses. “Is that how he lost his arm?” Harry asked.

Miss Abebe nodded, but the story got even worse, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. “He got to us just in time. If it had even been one second later, we wouldn't have been able to stop his legs from bleeding and they would have needed to be amputated as well. David’s family was killed by rebels and he was taken hostage. They turned him into a soldier. That’s what the cuts were from. They would cut them and rub brown-brown into the wounds. It's a mixture of heroin and gun powder that they use to make the children dependent on them. Then, they used him to go ahead down roads to see if there were any land mines. David, unfortunately, walked down one that was.”

“So how is he being treated?” Harry asked.

“He’ll need more care to overcome the withdraw,” Miss Abebe told us, "and we need to make sure his wounds don’t get infected. Once he’s recovered, the nurses can fit him for a prosthetic, but David seems to be able to function perfectly fine without it.”

Harry, sensing me tense up, thanked Miss Abebe for the tour and told her we had to get going. I didn’t realize I was shaking until I was back outside next to the Jeep. Tony waited to start the car and Harry turned around to me. “Fox,” he said quietly, "are you all right?”

I immediately turned into him and he wrapped his arms around me, ready to catch me as I collapsed into him. He held me there, tight, for a long time, until I was able to get the words out through my sobs. “How – do – you – do – this?”

He rubbed up and down my arms and kissed my forehead. “I know it’s hard,” he tried to comfort me. “Mum used to come home and cry for days.”

Blinking up at him, I shook my head. “How are we supposed to go back home, and put on fancy clothes, and go to movie premiers, and - and tennis matches after this?” I hiccuped.

Harry gave me a pitying look that made me I feel pathetic. I wasn’t the one who needed his sympathy right now. “Because, while we’re putting on fancy clothes and going to premiers and tennis matches, these children are here, getting the medical care they need. And they wouldn’t be, if I wasn’t helping. If I could be here every second, personally making food for their lunch, applying bandages myself, I would be, but I can’t. All that I can do is provide them with resources so that there can be other people who make sure those things get done, so that’s what I do. And, after we’re married, that’s what you’ll be doing, too.”

Sniffling, wiped my eyes with his shirt. Slowly, my heart rate returned to a normal beating pace. I wasn’t just sitting back and doing nothing. I was here, I was helping. Maybe I couldn’t heal these children’s wounds, physical or emotional, but I could make them smile for a second. I could color with them, dance with them, hug them. And if going to movie premiers and tennis matches helped make that more possible, helped Harry and I keep our status in life so that we could give more back to Sentebale, then I would paint the smile on my face and go. “Okay,” I nodded.

Harry placed his palms on the sides of my face. “I love you very much. You’re going to be great at this.” He kissed my forehead and hugged me tight before squeezing my hand and helping me into the Jeep.


	122. And One More Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry and I spent two more days visiting Sentebale, where I learned about more of the medical care and what it was like for the children who lived in the dormitory houses. Miss Abebe also showed me all about how they gave medical care to the children who were HIV positive, which was most of them. It was rough, and there were times when I had to excuse myself for a minute, like when a little girl ran up to Harry and wrapped herself around his leg. He picked her up and kissed the top of her head. They started talking in soft murmurs and Miss Abebe explained to me who this little girl was. Years ago, when Harry had first opened Sentebale, this little girl had been an infant. Miss Abebe had told Harry that the baby had been infected with HIV when she’d been raped. At my horrified expression, she’d explained that, in some tribes, it was believed that the cure to AIDS was to have sex with a virgin. Since there weren’t a lot of virgins around, little girls and babies ended up being the victims of this destructive myth. This little girl had been one of them, and as soon as Harry had heard the story, he’d picked her up and held onto her, almost throughout his entire visit. Miss Abebe looked around to make sure that Harry was otherwise occupied before confiding in me. “I think he was very sad to leave her. It was hard to get him to let her go,” she admitted. “He got…very emotional. I think she’s the reason he works so hard for us.” She went on to explain that, every time he visited, he and this little girl shared a special bond. If the other kids noticed that she was favored, they didn’t seem to care at all. I looked over in time to watch the little girl reach up and trace her finger over the freckles dusting the bridge of Harry’s nose. It made my heart ache and blow up like a balloon all at the same time. Being at Sentebale made me fall even _more_ in love with him, which I would have thought was impossible before this trip.

When we got home each day, we both would take a minute, usually in different parts of the cabin, to decompress from the emotions of the day. Eventually we’d gravitate back over to each other and find more enjoyable ways to relieve our stress. And…well, I felt a little guilty about it but…I couldn’t just forget about the whole New Year’s speculation. So, on New Year’s Eve, which Harry and I spent alone in our cabin, watching celebrations all over the world, I started to feel a little sick. When was he going to do it? Why didn’t he just ask already? What if I hated the ring? The suspense was killing me! What if, horror of horrors, he’d changed his mind?

Midnight came and went. I know, because I was watching the clock tick past every single minute. Eventually, it became clear to me that it wasn’t going to happen that night and, trying to hide my disappointment, I got into bed. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, because he wasn’t an idiot and could tell something was up.

“Nothing,” I sniffed, rolling over to face the opposite direction.

Harry snickered. “All in good time, Fox, all in good time.”

I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that the _time_ had better be pretty fucking soon. 

On New Year’s Day, Tony took us out on safari, which was thrilling in every sense of the word. It was _beautiful_ …and also a little terrifying. First of all, Lesotho was a beautiful country. Harry raved about it all the time, he had even said about a million times that, if he weren’t a prince, he would be a safari guide. Now that I’d seen it, I totally understood why. We could have driven around for a month and I probably never would have gotten bored. There were plains of grass as high as my thighs, blowing in the dry wind. There were crystal clear waterfalls, and red cliff-faces off the sides of impossibly huge mountains. Then, of course, there were the animals. I had been pretty shocked when Tony and Harry had both gotten into the Jeep with huge guns. Noticing my terrified gulp, Tony attempted to assure me, “Don’t worry, Miss Roxy. I almost never have to use it.” It wasn’t that comforting, but as we drove I definitely saw why it was necessary; I was even glad to have them when, through one of these grassy planes, I made out the unmistakable shape of a male lion. He had a wildly beautiful mane of hair, even messier than mine, which made me feel a little better about my crazy locks. 

I gasped and reached for Harry’s hand. He chuckled. “Don’t worry, he’s fine. Look, he’s just sitting there.” I highly doubted this, though, as the lion looked over at our Jeep. He stared at the idling vehicle for a long time, and I just _knew_ that he was seeing a Big Mac with fries. My heart pounded in my chest as the lion stared us down, opened his huge jaws, and…let out a yawn. He turned away after that, completely uninterested, and I clutched my chest and let out a sigh of relief. After that, it was somehow a lot easier to love the tranquilizer guns we’d taken with us, _and_ a lot easier to believe that we weren’t going to be attacked by any wildlife. 

This was extremely fortunate, because there was more than I could have ever imagined. Birds of Paradise with feathers in every color I could think of, and some I couldn’t; zebras gnawing on grass; giraffes, wide legged, dipping down into cool, clear lakes. At one point, we drove up upon a mama elephant on one side of the road, her baby on the other. “Oh my _God_!” I squealed, pointing them out as we slowed between them. “Look how cute!”

The mama elephant looked up at us. Like the lion, she stared, too. Tony left the engine idling with his hand over the gear shift, I noticed. He _hadn’t_ done this with the lion, and I had a dreaded feeling that one measly tranq dart wasn’t going to be able to stop this elephant if she decided that we were a threat to her baby and she needed to trample us. Eventually, the mama shook her head, her huge ears flapping, before raising her trunk and letting out the highest pitched, loudest trumpeting sound that I had ever heard.

“Okay, we’re just going to slowly back away,” Tony calmly told us. The entire rest of the tour, I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure there was no thousand-ton creature stomping after us. 

At the base of a mountain, Tony stopped and hopped out of the car. “Are we…are we going up?” I asked. Harry hadn’t prepared me for hiking.

“Yeah, I want to show you something,” he told me.

_Oh my God, this is it_ , I thought. He was going to take me to some beautiful, romantic spot on top of a mountain and pop the question. That was almost exactly how Will had done it for Kate! I tried not to let my huge grin give away the fact that I’d figured out his huge surprise. He took my hand and led us through what can only be described as a jungle. After a while of hiking, with Tony going ahead with the gun, we reached an open spot. There was the tiniest, prettiest waterfall I’d ever seen. It was practically a trickle, flowing down into a little pool at the bottom. The sound was nothing I’d ever heard before. It was the most amazing sound on the planet – almost complete silence, save for this dainty waterfall. Yes, it was the _perfect_ place to propose.

Harry turned to me. “I’ve never shown this spot to anyone before.”

This surprised me. He’d dated an actual African girl and never taken her here? My eyes immediately started to sting and I tried to blink them back and prepare for what was coming next. If I was already crying, things were going to get messy in a minute.

I watched Harry closely as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He stayed like that for a while, and I was pretty sure that he had completely tuned everything out. He’d gotten really good at meditating early on in his recovery. He didn’t do it so much anymore, but apparently he’d chosen now to pick it up again. That was great and everything, but I was getting impatient. When I cleared my throat, loudly, Harry’s eyes blinked open and he smiled at me. “Right, let’s get back.”

_WHAT?!_

I didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was disappointed as we headed back to the Jeep. 

After a much needed shower and dinner prepared by a chef employed by the people who owned the cabin (some aristo friend or another of Harry’s), Harry and I were standing on the huge, wrap-around front porch. “Have you enjoyed your time here?” he asked.

“Hm…let’s see. I got to see your passion project, meet all the kids, and learn about all of the amazing things you do. Today alone I saw an elephant and her baby, and took a picture of a lion. Oh, and I climbed a mountain and saw a secret waterfall. How could I _not_ be enjoying it?” Silently, I answered my own question, thinking, _An engagement ring wouldn’t hurt._

Grinning, Harry pressed on, “Can you think of anything that would make this trip better?”

Pretending to think deeply about his question, I scratched my head. “Maybe champagne,” I joked, and then added more seriously, “and my mom.” _And a diamond._ “But that’s it.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “This trip has been perfect.” _Almost._

“Really?” he asked. 

I nodded and then thought, “Why? Can _you_ think of anything that would make it better?” _Because I can, but I’m trying to be polite._

“Well…I can think of one thing,” Harry confessed, reaching around the back of his neck and unlinking my hands. 

I frowned as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a velvet box…and got down on one knee. “Oh my God. Harry…”

Looking up at me, Harry interrupted. “You always get to give the romantic monologues. Can I have one, please?” I couldn’t think of an answer, so I just closed my mouth. If I passed out right then and there, I wouldn’t be surprised, because I didn’t think that I was breathing. My heart was in between my lungs, and my bones had turned into rubber. “Roxanna, I have been madly in love with you since the day that I met you. I know that I have made mistakes, and I’ll make mistakes in the future. And I know that I’ve asked you to give up a lot for me. But I promise you, that if you marry me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it worth it for you, to make _every_ day worth _all_ of it.” His blue eyes were welling with tears, and I could only imagine the waterfall on my own face. 

Slowly, Harry opened the box and I was practically blinded. The ring was a huge canary diamond in a platinum band, an homage, I thought, to the fact that “our” flower was the daffodil. The band split into two separate diamond encrusted strands, leading up to the center stone. Like Kate’s, it, too, was surrounded by diamonds, but instead of an oval like hers it was just a perfect round cut. I was so distracted by its twinkles and sparkles that I didn’t even realize that I hadn’t said anything until Harry slowly reminded me, “Roxy? This is the part where you say something.”


	123. Just A Small Family Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It felt like I couldn’t get my answer out fast enough. “Yes,” I choked out, shrilly. “Yes, of course!” Harry shot up and wrapped me in a hug, planting a tear-filled kiss on my mouth. It felt like a movie kiss, or a romance novel kiss – my knees were weak, I was out of breath. I felt like I was Scarlet O’Hara or something. When we pulled away, I laughed and wiped away my tears and Harry plucked the ring from the box and placed it on my finger. “Oh my God,” I breathed out, looking down on it. Then, overcome with every emotion imaginable, I threw my arms around him again. 

Harry chuckled when we pulled away. “Now, about those two other things you wanted,” he said, leading me over to the dressing screen in a few great strides. Folding it back against the wall, he revealed an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne (and one of sparkling water, so he could partake) and two flutes on a table with candles and a vase of, yes, daffodils. 

“I should call my mom first,” I sniffled, trying to process all of this. I’d known that it was coming, but the fact that there was a ring, that it was _real_ now, that I was going to be somebody’s wife, and this wonderful man’s wife specifically - I just couldn’t entirely wrap my head around it.

“Ah. About that,” he interjected, walking back over to the front door. He opened it and gestured for me to follow him out onto the porch. When I did, it was just in time to see three Jeeps rolling up to the cabin. One was carrying my mom, Grace, Ray, and Eddie. The other was carrying Will, Kate, and Georgie, and the other Harry’s dad and Camilla. 

“Oh my God!” I cried out for what felt like the millionth time in six seconds. The Jeep had barely even screeched to a halt when my mom jumped out of it. “I’m engaged!” I called to her, waving my left hand in the air. As my mother embraced me in a hug, I admitted, “I’d be more mad at you for lying to me about the surprise if I wasn’t wearing such a fabulous ring!” and then immediately started showing it off. 

Charles, who had brought another bottle of champagne, popped it open and started pouring everyone flutes. “It’s beautiful,” Grace congratulated me. 

Kate giggled and hugged me. “Finally!”

I couldn’t hold back my own giggles and jumped up and down, hugging her back. “Congratulations Roxanna,” William gave me a kiss on both cheeks. 

“Mom, have you met Harry’s dad?” I asked, hoping that somehow, even though they’d arrived together, she hadn’t. She wasn’t a huge fan of his, and I remembered her tearfully alleging that it was his fault Diana was dead while we were watching her funeral. I didn’t think she’d be unkind, but I also didn’t think she’d have her eyes (or mind) open to seeing the warm, loving side of Charles that I saw. “This is Charles,” I introduced her.

My mom gave me a withering look. “Yes Roxanna, I know who this is,” she snapped, “and don’t call him Charles. That’s not very good manners.”

“I assure you, it’s quite all right,” he insisted. They shook hands and my mom looked to me, obviously confused about protocol. My mind flashed back to the first time I’d met William and, cringing, had turned to Harry for the same advice. I waved a hand at her. As an American, my mother wasn’t required to behave in any specific way around Prince Charles, and we were in private anyway. My mother introduced herself, somewhat awkwardly. “You’ve raised a delightful woman,” he told her. “Roxanna and I have been through it all.” He fondly embraced me in a one-armed hug and it occurred to me suddenly that I had no one to walk me down the aisle. Choosing my usual coping mechanism and ignoring that thought completely, I introduced my mom to Camilla, who coolly shook her hand and looked totally unimpressed when my mom told her that she was a teacher from New Jersey. Camilla, of course, already knew this information, and had clearly only asked so that she could look down her nose at my mother some more. I took pride in knowing that my mother could not have cared less what Camilla thought. She still used Diana’s old not-so-pleasant nickname for her, The Rottweiler…although, I shuddered to think what would happen if she made a slip up…

“Has anyone called Gran?” Harry spoke up as we all chatted on the porch and discussed the upcoming wedding. 

Next to me, my mother sucked in a breath. “Jesus Roxy, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’ve met her loads of times, Mom, she’s nice,” I tried to calm her. Remembering what she’d told me when she’d come over for my retirement party, knowing that when she looked at me, she saw the same little girl, crying in front of the news the day before school started, it was easy to feel a pang of sympathy for my mom. With a concerned glance, she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear while Charles called the Queen. 

“It’s Charles, Mama,” he said into the phone. “Yes, we’ve arrived in Africa. I’m with Harry now, he has something to tell you.”

Harry took the phone. “Gran, I’ve done it.” He paused and then chuckled. “Well of course she’s said yes!” After another pause, he laughed, “What do you mean you weren’t sure?!” 

***

Kate told me once that before she and William had the opportunity to make up a guest list for their wedding, they were given a list by Clarence House of over seven hundred people that they were supposed to invite for diplomatic reasons. I didn’t care how many people had to be invited so that we didn;t accidentally start a nuclear holocaust, I just wanted to make sure that everyone that I wanted to be there was there. Which basically meant my mom, what little family she had, a few of the girls from my dance school back in Jersey, and all my friends in London. I’d never thought about what kind of wedding I wanted before. Like all little girls, I dreamed of my wedding day, but not in those specifics. I didn’t know what kind of dress I wanted or if I wanted it to be big or small. It was easy to decide that I wanted a spring wedding, because it was my favorite season, but other than that, I had no idea. The good thing is that a lot of those details were already decided. It was going to be a big wedding, obviously, in the morning. The reception would be at Buckingham, and there would be no lame writing of vows, which I was pretty relieved about. 

There were so many other factors. Picking my bridesmaids, what they would wear, our menus for our brunch reception, our menus for our night reception, color schemes, centerpieces, floral arrangements, music, the cake, oh and what I was going to wear. Harry had it easy. His Gran was going to tell him what she wanted him to wear, and that would be that. I, on the other hand, had no idea, and I couldn’t just go to that store on that show on TLC and buy a dress – it was going to be a one of a kind, remembered in history forever, and compared to Kate’s beautiful gown, which it was never going to live up to. 

It was thinking about all of these things that kept me wide-awake on the plane back from Lesotho. Prince Charles had flown my family back to the States, first class, since he knew how I felt about flying private. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time that you were coming and didn’t say anything,” I shook my head as we had said goodbye. “Oh, and Eddie, I saw a lion.”

“So did I,” he shrugged casually, too cool to be impressed.

I looked to Grace and Ray for explanation. “Harry set up a safari for us,” Grace admitted.

Deciding that my family was made up of people who were way too good at lying, I kissed them all goodbye with tentative plans for them to come to London to help with, well, everything.

On our flight back to London, my first trip on the royal plane, Harry grinned from under his eye mask. He clamped a leg around mine, which was shaking from the fact that my foot was bouncing up and down uncontrollably. “Roxy, you _have_ to go to sleep.”

“How can you sleep?” I hissed at him. The plane was huge, and everyone was so spread out and in their own private sleeping suites that no one could possibly hear me, but I wanted to make _absolutely sure_ no one was witness to my pre-wedding freak out.

“Because it’s nighttime. I’m tired. I probably won’t get any sleep for the next five months. I don’t know, pick one,” he offered, pulling the mask back off his face. The plane came equipped with separate cabins with real beds, and a shower. Lying on our sides, Harry asked, “Is there anything that you can do to start planning our wedding now?”

Blowing out a defeated breath, I replied, “Well…no.”

“So then go to sleep.” He reached up onto the tiny shelf above our heads and handed me my own eye mask. It was the same advice my mom would have given me. Which reminded me…

“Harry, I was kind of thinking…well, I guess I just now realized…because I hadn’t really thought of it before…”

“Your hesitance makes me think it’s something terrible, Roxanna. Is it something terrible?” he asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

Deflated, I answered honestly, “ _I_ think so. I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.”

Slowly, Harry’s lips curled up into a smile. “I always thought you’d be fine going it alone.”

“I’m not making _that_ walk alone,” I muttered.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tried to assure me with a kiss on the forehead. I didn’t feel any better, but the anxiety was exhausting me, so I passed out. 

I didn’t wake up until the plane landed on the tarmac. Instantly, my phone started buzzing with texts and missed messages. I frowned down at some of the texts. “Ava says that the news is already saying we’re engaged,” I told Harry.

He shrugged. “They’ve been saying that since we started dating.”

The family and I got off the plane and were ushered into blacked out cars. “The press are onto us, I’m afraid,” Charles told me with noted regret. ”Roxanna, I know you probably wanted more time to celebrate on your own, but would you mind a formal announcement this afternoon?”

“Today?” I repeated, my voice breaking. “But…but it _just_ happened!” Charles gave me a sympathetic look, but I knew what he was thinking. This was just the way my life was now. I would have loved to celebrate privately with Harry, just the two of us, with a lot of gazing at the enormous diamond ring on my finger. Oh well. There could still be a lot of gazing, I supposed. “Yeah. All right. I should call Ava and let her know.”

I told her to meet us at BP with options, which I knew she’d been picking out since I’d hired her. “So it’s true then?” she asked. “It’s official?”

Biting down on my bottom lip, I nodded. “It’s official.” She screamed into the phone and I laughed and held it away from my ear. Charles and Harry chuckled. I put the phone back in my purse and leaned back against the leather seat. “So…how do we do this?”

It actually involved very little effort on my part. Harry notified St. James’s Palace of the engagement, and they called all of their correspondents and told them to meet us at Buckingham. Having watched the press conference that Will and Kate had called ten years ago, I knew what to expect, which was blinding light and people shouting and the deafening click of cameras. I just had to smile and look pretty, which I’d had a lot of practice at over the years.

When we got back to BP, Kate and Will headed back to their Kensington apartment with George. “Do you have to go?” I asked her pathetically.

“You’ll be great,” she encouraged. “Honestly, all you have to do is sit there and answer questions.”

“And try not to have a seizure.”

“Well, that too.”

Having Kate there probably would have made me feel more comfortable, but I knew why she was leaving; I needed to learn to do this stuff on my own. I had been fortunate to have Kate to learn from, but the truth was that we were very different people. Kate was content to sit back and let William take the reigns, navigating them through their engagement and the first months of their marriage before she bravely stepped out on her own. I, on the other hand, liked to be more in control of situations. Even when I tried to be more passive, as I’d done when the press had found out about Harry’s drug problem, I found it hard to say nothing. This attitude didn’t always get me the best press coverage, but I’d stopped worrying about that a long time ago. Kate was the “good” one, and I was the one who got to be just a little less good.

Ava rolled a clothes rack into Harry’s room and stopped. “Before I show you any of these, I demand to see the ring.” I couldn’t help giggling as I showed it off. We squealed and jumped up and down while Harry covered his ears with his hands. “Congratulations!” Ava said, hugging both of us.

I wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks.”

“All right, now for the dresses. I wanted to stay away from blue, and nothing long-sleeved, I think. Tasteful, of course, but nothing too Kate.”

I was taken aback a bit by how much thought had to go into this, but I silently thanked God for Ava as she showed me my options. After going through several dresses, I suddenly gasped, spotting the perfect one on the rack. “Oh my God, Ava. This is it.”

Ava raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “Really? I kind of just put it on there as an experiment.”

“Well…start writing your lab report, because I love it.” I reached for the shining yellow dress, pulling the plastic Vivienne Westwood bag off of it. It was wrap-around, and looked a _bit_ like Kate’s, but not too much. The skirt ended just above the knee, and it clasped on one side of my waist with a gold buckle. It was a little flashy, but nothing too outrageous.

“Um…Roxy, this is your first official engagement. This is how you’re going to start off the endless fashion scrutiny that will be with you for the rest of your life. Is this really how you want to start it?” Ava asked cautiously.

Tilting my head back, I let out a loud laugh. “My fashion scrutiny started ten years ago, the moment I left school grounds and got into a glass-topped car,” I corrected her. “And the rest of my life? More like the next twenty-years. No one cares what Princess Anne wears.”

“Roxy,” Ava said in a warning tone. She was right, this was important, but I thought the dress was perfect!

“Spice, what do you think?” I asked, holding the dress in front of my body and turning around to show him.

Harry had an unusual reaction, which was to laugh. At my confusion, he came over and placed a kiss on my cheek. “It’s so you, Fox.”

Turning to Ava, I said, “See?” 

She sighed, shrugged, and said, “It’s your funeral.”

“No, it’s my engagement announcement.”

At the same time, she and Harry sarcastically chorused, “Same thing.”

*** 

The invited members of the press organized with amazing speed. Within the next two hours, the reporters had organized in the reception hall and Harry and I were dressed and ready to announce. He was in a grey suit with a yellow tie patterned with white diamond shapes and had a yellow pocket square. At the door to the hall, he turned to me. “Are you ready?” he asked. I nodded and he held my face in his hands. “I love you, and I can’t wait to marry you.”

I smiled and cocked my head to the side. “What was that for?”

“I want you to be smiling when we go out there,” Harry explained.

“I would have been smiling anyway.” Taking his hand, I gave it a squeeze before letting it go. Harry took a breath and opened the door. 

We’d been in crowds before, and the press conference for my retirement had been widely attended, but it was nothing compared to this. Careful to stay two steps behind Harry, I glanced at the ground, but immediately had to blink several times. The camera shutters were so loud they sounded like clapping. The flashes were so constant that it just seemed like one big light was shining, and I didn’t know if it was because of the energy or because of the amount of people in the room, but it was about twenty degrees hotter than usual. _Please don’t be a sweaty hot mess all over your engagement interview. Hold it together, DeLaSearle._

Harry stopped in the middle of the room and turned to the reporters. He smiled down at me and held out the crook of his arm. I giggled and looped my hand through his, resting my hand on his arm so that the reporters could see the luster of the ring. I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder. Harry kissed my hair. It occurred to me right after the fact that this display of PDA was wholly unprofessional and improper. I stood up straight, feeling my face get hot. Great, I was already fucking things up. 

We stood there for a few more minutes, like animals in a zoo, letting them takes pictures and shout questions at us before waving goodbye and heading into the green room. Harry rang for tea, as we’d spend the next hour or so talking, and once it was delivered we allowed the reporter in. We’d chosen Tom Bradby, who had also helped with William and Kate’s engagement interview, and Harry’s admission about his drug use. As we sat on the couch, he and his cameraman set up across from us, which gave me ample time to panic over saying the wrong thing. Next to me, Harry took hold of my hand and gave it a kiss. “That’s sweet,” Tom said.

I blushed and looked down. Since I’d decided to retire and get married, I’d known that this was coming eventually and had spent a lot of time investigating other royal engagements. I’d particularly taken note at the flirty, humorous way Fergie had conducted her engagement and wedding to Harry’s uncle, Andrew. That was how Harry and I were together, and I liked that about us. It was how Will and Kate were together, too, but they wanted to be more private about that, which I understood. Of course, I also liked the way Kate had conducted herself, as well as the way Harry’s mother had – shy and beautiful. Ideally, our engagement would come off as a combination of the three, which meant not sickening peoplpe with our PDA. Why was this such hard work? It was already exhausting me, and I’d barely been engaged for an entire day.

“Right, you two ready?” Tom asked. We nodded and he turned on the camera. “So first of all, congratulations. It seems like this has been a long time in the making. Why so long?”

Okay, I actually was going to punt the first question to Harry, because my answer was, “I was too chicken-shit,” and I didn’t think that would play well. He cleared his throat and I realized that I was going to need a lot of schooling in this new area of my life.

Harry and I answered more questions about how he’d popped the question, why he’d picked this ring, which was new as opposed to an heirloom. Tom asked if my mother would be moving to London and how my family felt about the engagement, and then asked us what our plans for a family were. Harry and I both let out awkward laughs before I finally said, “Right now I’m more worried about my dress, but we definitely want to start a family sometime soon,” which seemed satisfactory enough for Tom. 

He looked down at his yellow notepad and went on to the next question. “Now, Harry earlier you mentioned that your relationship has had trials and hard times, and I was just wondering how you think that played a part in your decision to get married.”

I frowned, not really sure what the question was. Harry looked down at me, looking confused as well before answering, “Well, obviously going to Afghanistan was a huge event in my life, and Roxanna’s, and when I got back I think I made it clear that I’d had a lot of time to think about the things that were important in my life, and that I wanted to get married eventually, to Roxanna of course,” he added with a smirk.

“And Roxy, was it always clear to you that you wanted to marry Prince Harry, having gone through so much with him?”

“I wouldn’t have gone through it all if I didn’t think that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him,” I answered honestly. It was the first thing that had come to my mind, and while I knew I should probably try to censor myself from now on, I thought it was a pretty good answer. Harry squeezed my hand and I smiled at him.

“Lovely,” Tom wrapped up, and then added, “I think we’ve got our sound bite.”

He turned out to be right. For the next week on the TV, on the radio, and in print that quote was everywhere. My favorite was the cover of the Sun, that had the quote on the cover in big, bold white letters, and a picture of Harry and I beaming at each other making our announcement in BP. It had been a long time since I’d gotten the feeling of butterflies in my stomach around Harry. Not that I didn’t love him, I obviously did, it was just a different kind of feeling from that sweaty palmed, shaky kneed feeling from the first few months. Now, though, thinking about the wedding, I got that feeling. I looked down at the magazine at a newsstand and bit my bottom lip, feeling my stomach swoosh and my heart pound. Okay. I was excited.


	124. God For Harry, England, and St. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The Queen and Prince Charles let Harry and I have the next three days “off,” for lack of a better word. ’“Enjoy this time together,” Harry’s grandmother encouraged us, “it’ll go by in an instant if you don’t cherish it.“ The press were camped out outside my apartment, so we retreated to the Surrey house. Nobody gave a shit in Surrey, which I was thankful for. On the second day we went out to the pub we always went to, and Bernie, the hardened bartender whom we’d come to know over the years, looked up from a tap and said, “I ‘ope you weren’t expectin’ an engagement present from me.” That was about as much scrutiny as we got in Surrey. 

On the third day, we came out of hiding and ventured back into London, hoping that the paparazzi had died down. We had to start meeting with people to, you know, actually plan the wedding. The thought alone made me want to pop a Xanax. As we got into the car, Harry advised, “Fox, take a deep breath. We’re just talking about our options now.”

“Oh, well okay then! I’m not nervous at all anymore!” I sarcastically snapped.

Harry smirked and shook his head. It was easier for him – he had nothing to prove. I had to get every last detail right, or I was a money-grubbing whore unfit to be a member of the monarchy. Yeah, nothing to worry about! 

When we arrived at St. James’s Palace, Charles was waiting for us with several gold folders with calligraphy on them that spelled out, “Westminster Abbey,” or “Windsor Castle,” and “St. Paul’s Cathedral.” Seeing my panicked face, Charles hurriedly added, “Don’t feel like you have to do it in London. You can do it at any of our estates, Canongate Kirk or Balmoral, if you want a more private ceremony. Technically, you don’t even have to allow it to be televised.”

“Oh, thanks,” I took the Windsor folder, looking at Harry.

He got the signal. “This is all great, Dad. We’ll have a look.”

Charles nodded slowly and left us to discuss it. The message was clear: we needed far more time than we actually had, so we were just going to have to make some quick decisions. A normal person would bring all of this information home, consult budgets, times, dates, see what they agreed upon as a couple. Harry and I had to decide where we’d say our vows in front of thousands of people right here, right now. 

When the door shut behind Charles, I took a deep breath and flopped down on the couch. Fanning myself with the Westminster Abbey folder, I stated, “Well this is out.”

“What is?”

“Westminster,” I told him. “We can’t do it there, not after Will and Kate.”

Harry nodded slowly. Our options were narrowing, but we were both cautious as to the obvious choice here. I didn’t know if he’d be open to having our wedding there, given the associations that would be made, and I didn’t want to make him do something he didn’t want to do. Clearing his throat, he suggested, “Well um…there’s always Windsor.”

I cringed. Harry’s father and step-mother had been married there, and I’d be damned if I was going to do anything that resembled something Camilla had done in any way. Then again…St. Paul’s probably wasn’t the best karma, given the last wedding…but maybe that could be part of it. Maybe it would be better that way, and help erase some of the sadness that came with the memories, and ease the heartache from the gaping vaccuum created by one missing guest.

Looking up at Harry through my eyelashes, I tried to gauge his reaction. He sat down next to me and planted a big, sloppy kiss on my mouth. “I’m really glad you said that,” he confessed, even though I hadn’t said anything. “I wanted it there, but I wasn’t sure you did.”

“I think it’s the only decision I’m sure I want to make,” I confirmed, squeezing my arms around his shoulders. Harry kissed me right behind my ear and I shivered. Okay, so being engaged was pretty fun, so far.

Charles came back in, with a man in red carrying tea, and cleared his throat. Harry and I separated and he looked up at his father. “We’ve decided.”

“Oh?” Charles asked. 

“Yeah. We decided…” Harry cleared his throat and looked at me. I nodded at him, allowing him to go one. “We decided St. Paul’s.”

Charles paused, then blinked. “Really?”

I smiled at him and Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Charles smiled and I let out a relieved breath. “Well…I think that will be beautiful.” Smiling, I rested my head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling like I could burst from happiness. 

As the man in red poured tea for the three of us, I placed a hand on Harry’s knee. The fact that we’d made the first big decision together was making me feel a lot better about all of it. We’d been engaged for half a week and we already had a venue. That was a lot more than most couples. Okay, there was still a pretty long list of things we needed – invitations, food, the flowers, the music, the _dress_ \- but at least we had this one under our belt.

“Now, Roxanna, I don’t want to pressure you,” Prince Charles gently warned me, “but I really think you should consider using Highgrove for catering.”

Harry laughed. “Dad! Are you trying to get use our wedding for your business?”

Charles gave him a deadpan stare. “Oh, believe me, I think I’ll be losing far more than I’ll make.” Sitting back, he offered, “I’m _just_ saying that I _personally_ think it would be nice to have locally grown food from a sustainable farm.”

“Highgrove isn’t the only sustainable farm in Britain,” Harry pointed out.

“I think it’s a good idea,” I agreed. “It’s the easiest choice, isn’t it?”

“What? No, that’s a stupid idea,” Harry shook his head. “If we use Highgrove, people will be angry that we didn’t use another local business.”

“If you don’t, people will be angry that the wedding is being paid for by them and you’re running up the bill when you have a perfectly good resource to yourselves,” Charles pointed out.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I admitted.

Charles and Harry both turned to me, blinked at me for a second, and then burst into laughter. Wiping under his eyes, Prince Charles acknowledged, “You’re quite funny, Roxanna.” I decided not to tell him that I wasn’t making a joke.

*** 

Announcing that you’re going to have a wedding in five months would leave the average person a very short amount of time to buy a wedding dress. Announcing that you’re going to have a royal wedding, for which you need a custom made, one of a kind dress that people will remember forever and will be seen by millions of people around the world, leaves you screwed. Which was the exact way that I felt as I pored over bridal magazines with Kate, B and Pippa one afternoon. “What about this one?” Pippa asked, pointing to a ball gown with an embroidered bodice. 

Wrinkling my nose, I shook my head. “It’s too…big.”

Will and Harry came in, fresh from kicking around a football in the courtyard with George. They were covered in mud and red-faced. George declared that he had won the game and told his mother all about it as Harry opened the fridge for a bottle of water and peered over my shoulder. “What are you ladies doing?”

“Trying to decide what kind of dress Roxy wants,” Bianca told him. "and we’re getting nowhere.”

Harry grinned and kissed my temple. “What can I say? My girl is stubborn.”

“Well she’s going to have to be less stubborn if she doesn’t want to walk down the aisle completely nude,” Pippa warned me with a withering look. I understood her and Bianca’s frustration - I’d nixed everything they’d suggested, and we’d been looking for an hour - but I couldn’t just go try on dresses, or be on that show on TLC where you shop for your dress in that store that seems to have every piece of white clothing ever made! This was one of the biggest decisions I’d ever make.

“Listen,” Kate chimed in, shutting the magazine in front of me. “You’re getting overwhelmed. Let’s just think about what you want the _theme_ of your dress to be.”

Giving her a doubtful look, I asked, “Theme?”

“Right. Like, the theme for my dress was – “

“Perfect,” I interjected.

Kate smiled proudly. “I was going to say classic romance. What do you want the theme of your dress to be?”

I glared at her. ”If it was that easy, I wouldn’t be totally screwed right now.”

Later that night, I was still at it alone. Harry came into the kitchen. “Take a break. There’s a new _Downton Abbey_ tonight.”

“I can’t take a break! I don’t have time for a break!” I answered in shrill hysterics, frantically flipping through pages of _Modern Bride_. “I just…need a theme.” When I flipped the next page in the bridal magazine, there was a picture of a replica of Kate’s dress. Disheartened, I let out a sigh. “This is impossible. Kate’s dress was tooperfect.”

Harry nodded. “It was a beautiful dress,” he agreed, “but you can’t have hers, so you’re going to have to pick a new theme. For instance…with this dress,” he pointed to a gown with a see-thru bodice, “your theme could be ‘loose woman’.” I laughed and Harry turned the page. “And this dress’s theme would be that you love feathers and would want to look like Big Bird when you walk down the aisle.” 

I laughed again before closing the magazine and giving him a kiss. “All right, let’s see what Mary and Matthew are up to.”

It took half a Xanax to put me to sleep that night, and until I drifted off I was seeing visions of gowns swirling in my head. Thankfully, the sleep afforded me a clear head the next morning, and I tried to conquer my dress problem from a new angle. While Harry was at a ribbon cutting or something, I decided that maybe I should be more passive than active and called Ava. “I think the thing to do here is to call up a bunch of designers and ask them for sketches of what they’d put me in.” Ava agreed and told me she’d call her contacts. When I’d hired her in the fall she’d had a few contacts, but the list had expanded so much in just the past couple of months that now she could hardly fit them all in her Blackberry. 

Within two hours I had sketches shooting out of the fax machine. Alexander McQueen (obviously a no, which pained me), Vivienne Westwood, Catherine Walker, Victoria Beckham, Stella MCartney – it seemed that every designer in Britain wanted to be the one to make my dress, not that I was surprised. The publicity would be fantastic. If American designers were an option, I felt like I’d be more familiar with their work, but for a royal wedding only British designers would suffice. Everything from the gown to the floral arrangements was going to have to come from an English vendor, unless I wanted to catch fresh Hell on my first day as an HRH. 

As Ava and I flipped through the proposed sketches, I shook my head. “I just feel like these still aren’t it.”

“Well these are just suggestions, Roxy. You have to meet with them to get the real idea for what you want,” she advised me.

I had turned on the news to watch Harry’s appearance, which was over. From this, however, the entertainment news channel had started a panel discussion about he and I. When I heard my name, I looked up and found that the panel was talking about me being American. “We know that Harry has always liked girls who aren’t British – before he dated Roxy, he was with Chelsea Davy, who was South African,” one member on the panel stated.

“Yes, but an _American_?” another panel member interrupted. “The last time an American married into the monarchy, it was Wallis Simpson.”

“Roxy, don’t watch this rubbish,” Ava encouraged, pushing the remote in my direction. I didn’t take her advice.

“Wallis Simpson was a twice divorced Hitler sympathizer in the 1930s. Roxanna DeLaSearle is a perfectly nice girl. You cannot _seriously_ be comparing the two.”

“No one is saying that Roxy DeLaSearle is on par with Wallis Simpson,” the moderator calmed the panel. I was surprised that I was warranting this much discussion. Certainly, I wasn’t interesting enough to have an entire panel devoted to me. “The question is; does she deserve to be a part of this monarchy when she has no understanding of why it’s so important to us? Does Roxanna DeLaSearle know, I mean really know what it means to be British?”

Ava was about to turn off the TV, but I stopped her. “That’s it!”

“That’s…what?” she asked cautiously.

“That’s my theme! I can use the dress as an opportunity to showcase the fact that I respect the monarchy, and England, and all that!”

Ava was clearly unconvinced. “So what are you going to do? Wear a Union Jack dress like you’re Ginger Spice?” she asked.

I pretended to think about this. “Dunno, do you think I could pull off the red sparkly platforms?”

“Roxy, this is serious,” she insisted.

“Yeah, got that,” I snapped at her, the wheels turning in my mind. It was going to be a dress that tied everything together, maybe a medieval-like bodice honoring the Tudor era; silk and lace for Harry’s mother and grandmother; the long sleeves of Princess Anne’s dress that looked a little bit Victorian. I swore, I’d seen a dress like that before somewhere… "Oh my God. Ava. You’re a genius.”

Ava looked up from the fax machine, where she was about to discard an Elie Saab sketch. “Not British, too bad. Wait, what?” she asked.

“The dress! The dress you sketched! That’s the dress! Where’s your portfolio?” I snapped my fingers at her. “Do you still have it?”

“Yeah, somewhere,” she shrugged. “I still don’t understand.”

“That sketch you had in your portfolio during our interview. _That’s_ the dress, Ava, _that’s_ what I _need_ to wear.”

Ava gave me a blank stare. It took her a long time before she finally, slowly asked, “You want… _me_ …to design your wedding dress.”

“You already have,” I shrugged. “I just need you to actually _do_ the damn thing.”

“Um…okay, I think I need…” She didn’t finish her sentence, just slowly lowered herself into a chair. After several deep breaths, she looked up at me. “Roxy…that’s…that’s a nice thing for you to say, but I’m not a designer.”

Oh good lord. It was like having a conversation with myself. I never liked getting compliments and was always hesitant when huge opportunities like this fell into my lap. “Ava, you’re doing it. Talk to whoever you have to talk to so you can get it done, but I want that dress.” Ava was a total smartass and she was never stressed out or taken aback by anything, so when I realized that she was blinking back tears, I had no idea how to react. “Um…I mean, if you _really_ don’t want to do it…”

She waved a hand. “No! Of course I want to do it!” she choked back tears. “It’s just…you know, before I was just working for someone else and now I’m working for royalty.”

I suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. “Well uh…you know…not really. It’s just me.”

Ava stopped crying immediately and sniffled, looking up at me. “You’re going to have to get better at this.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I reminded her, “Don’t you have a dress to start putting together, royal seamstress?"


	125. Penny For Your Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Roxy, you have to stop shaking,” Ava insisted, pinning a piece of fabric up so that the skirt was just dusting the floor. “I’m going to stick you and then you’ll bleed all over the place.” I hadn’t gotten any sleep for about two weeks, and I was surviving off of coffee and stress…and I’d taken up Harry’s nasty smoking habit. 

“Why did I ask you to do this again?” I asked her.

“Because I’m a fashion genius,” she shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. You have the most important part covered. The rest should be easy,” Ava tried to make me feel better.

“Do you know how much of ‘the rest’ there is?” I snapped. “Flowers, music, food, the cake, everyone else’s dresses, transportation. So it’s not like ‘the rest,’ is just…you know…as easy as…whatever.”

Ava raised an eyebrow but kept up her hemming. “Too tired to finish a simile? You need to get some sleep.”

I had changed back into my real clothes when my phone rang, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was Harry’s cousin, Zara. If I was worried about having to follow up Kate’s wedding, Zara was definitely the person who could put me at ease. She’d gotten married a few weeks after Kate, and she honestly hadn’t cared at all. Harry and I had been broken up at the time so I hadn’t been there, but from the pictures and what I heard, it had been just as beautiful and romantic as Kate’s. Zara and her older brother, Peter, weren’t titled, which knocked Peter back to eleventh in line (twelfth now, with Georgie). This was all because he was the son of Princess Anne as opposed to Prince Charles. While I’d always assumed that this would really bother me if I was in that position, they both seemed to prefer it. They got all of the perks of being in the Firm, and they were free to do as they pleased with little to no public backlash. Even when there was public backlash, they didn’t care, because they were private citizens, so it didn’t matter. 

Not to mention, Zara was one of the smartest, most talented people I knew. When Harry was deployed, I desperately sought hobbies to fill my time, and Zara had been kind enough to teach me to ride. Yes, I’d been given riding lessons by an Olympic medalist. Pretty awesome.

“How’s it all coming along?” she asked, sounding sympathetic. She must have heard the desperation in my voice when I picked up.

“That’s a good question. I’ll probably be able to answer you after I get some sleep. So never. I’ll never be able to answer you.”

Zara snickered. “Uncle Chuck was telling me you were stressed,” she told me, using her moniker for Prince Charles. “I was calling to ask if you wanted the name of my planner.”

The thought of hiring a wedding planner had occurred to me before. Everyone including my mother, Grace, Harry’s father, step-mother, and granny had suggested it, it just didn’t seem like a good idea to me. One more person involved was one more person who could spill secrets. And…okay, this was kind of stupid, but…well, Kate had done the whole thing herself, and I didn’t want to look like a slacker by comparison. If I used Zara’s planner, however, I wouldn’t have to worry about leaked secrets. If Zara trusted her, that meant I could.

Sensing my hesitation, Zara insisted, “It’s not cheating or anything. You can’t possibly do it all on your own.”

“Kate did,” I muttered.

Zara scoffed. “No, she didn’t. Besides, she’s a perfectionist and a control freak. She practically gets off on it.” I snorted out a laugh. Okay, Zara was kind of right about that. “You’re never going to get anything done if you keep trying to live up to someone else’s wedding,” she calmly insisted. “She had her wedding, I had mine, Peter had his and they were all different and they were all brilliant. They were special because they were _ours_ , not some cheap imitation of someone else’s. That’s all anybody wants. The only way it’s going to be perfect, is if it’s _yours_.”

Smiling, I thanked Zara for the pep talk and told her I’d take the number for the planner. When I hung up the phone, my eyes were stinging from joy (and sleep deprivation) induced tears. Marrying into this family was by far the best decision I’d ever made.

***

The reason it was so easy to forgive Ava’s abrasive assertiveness was because it was she backed it up by getting shit done. So when I met with Zara’s wedding planner, Penny, who was a honey-blonde with a soft, calming voice, I actually started to get worried. She was way too nice. How was she going to be able to get people to give her _exactly_ what I wanted if she was too damn sweet?

“I don’t like her,” Ava decided after our first meeting.

I glared at her. “The only reason you don’t like her is because you don’t want anyone to be more important than you during the wedding.”

Ava blanched, mouth agape. “That’s not true! _You’re_ going to be the most important person! I’ll be second,” she shrugged.

If I had any doubts about Penny, they were completely forgotten by our second meeting. She’d asked a few simple questions about Harry and I as a couple, and then showed up with a white binder full of ideas. Before, I hadn’t been able to settle on anything because I didn’t see anything I liked. Flipping through Penny’s binder, the opposite was true.

“I thought, for your ‘something blue,’ you could put forget-me-nots in your bouquet,” she offered. “For His Royal Highness’s charity.”

Ava cackled and uncorked a bottle of wine. “You’re going to have to start using their real names. Think of all the time you’ll save!”

“What are you even doing here?” I asked her.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You have the Well Child Awards next month. I’m here to dress you, since you’re clearly fashionably challenged.”

Penny blinked, just as surprised as I was that I actually paid this person. “ _Anyway_ ,” I turned back to her, “I think that’s a _great_ idea.”

As it turned out, Penny had a lot of great ideas. She set up tastings for Harry and I, narrowed down my music choices to cut out any songs that were too short, too long, or too overused, and listed all of my transportation options. “You should probably do the coaches again, like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge did.” Ava scoffed again at the use of titles. Penny tried to ignore her, but I saw her eyes (and the annoyance in them) flick in Ava’s direction for the briefest second. “For economics, of course. Do you want to arrive by car or coach?” 

I scrunched up my nose. I didn’t fancy the idea of being carted around behind horse manure on my wedding day, for my arrival or departure. When I told Penny this, she gave me a smile, but I could see the hesitation in her expression. “Well…it’ll be a first, but let’s see what we can do.” 

When she left, I blew out a breath. “Can you believe how easy that was?” I asked Ava, half because I was genuinely impressed and half because I was just trying to get to her.

Not to be outdone, Ava immediately produced a folder (from where, I had no idea) full of ideas for the bridal party dresses.

***

Making these decisions was really hard, but once they were made I never questioned them. Since I was the most indecisive person on the planet, this was a pretty incredible achievement. “Thank God for Penny and Ava,” Harry noted one morning when I woke up from the first uninterrupted and refreshing sleep I’d gotten since we’d announced. “If they worked together, they could probably take over the world.”

I scoffed. “Spice, don’t be ridiculous. Ava working with someone else isn’t a thing.”

Regardless of Ava’s inability to be a team player, Harry was proven right that afternoon. First, Penny stopped by with several different floral arrangements. I teared up once I saw the sample of my bouquet. Harry kissed my temple, placing a supportive hand on the small of my back. The tears got more intense as Penny showed us what she’ put together for centerpieces. They were white daffodils. “How did you know?” I asked her, dabbing under my eyes with a tissue. 

Penny looked from me to Harry and back again. “His Royal Highness told me they were special to you.”

I wrapped my arms around Harry’s ridiculously broad shoulders and held on tight. After a moment, I pulled back to give him a kiss, beaming up at him. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you to be my baby daddy.”

Penny left before our meeting with Ava so they wouldn’t cross paths, because I got the feeling that Ava scared the shit out of her. Hell, Ava scared the shit out of _me_ sometimes. “You are going to love me even more than you already do when I tell you who we got for Grace and your mum.”

“Who says I love you at all?”

“Don’t play Hard To Get, Roxy, you can’t pull it off.” I laughed, even though I didn’t want to encourage this behavior, and asked Ava to fill me in. I’d offered her the job of dressing the whole party but she was too preoccupied with my dress and didn’t want to be distracted. She made me wait in suspense before finally revealing, “Victoria Beckham.”

“No way!” I squealed, throwing my arms around her and jumping up and down. Grace was going to be so excited! _I_ was so excited! 

When I’d calmed down, Ava brushed down the front of her eggplant purple sheath dress, obviously put off by my gross and overt display of emotion. “And for your mum I got the Emanuels.”

The Emanuels were the brother and sister design team who had done Princess Diana’s dress. I paused for half a second, trying to decide if people would be pissed about my mom wearing the same people who had dressed Princess Diana on her wedding day, but I remembered Zara’s words about it being my wedding, and realized that I didn’t care. “You really should consider working together with Penny on world domination.”

The two of them were being enormously helpful in the decision making area, but I was about to be faced with one decision that no one could make for me.


	126. Pippa-ing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

The wedding planning was moving along quickly now that we had Penny. Harry and I had been to multiple tastings and we’d decided on a caterer ( _not_ Highgrove, since I decided it would look worse if we were putting money back into our own pockets). The music wasn’t chosen yet, and we still hadn’t found someone to do the cake. I had to choose transportation, too, but at least my dress and the bridesmaids dresses were decided. British weddings were a little different from American ones in that there was an adult maid of honor and best man, but the rest of the wedding party were children. Grace was going to be my maid of honor, of course; our relationship wasn't _that_ fractured. The only reason I hadn’t been her maid of honor was because our age gap was so wide that I was too young. Not to mention that if she wasn’t, the media would jump on that story like they were all suddenly professional rugby players. While I was perfectly fine with Grace being my maid of honor, I also wanted Kate to be involved somehow.

“How would that work?” she asked one night, after they’d had Harry and I over for dinner. 

“Well…I don’t really know yet,” I admitted. Seeing as how I was already shaking things up by refusing to arrive or depart in anything horse-drawn (which had already caused some raised eyebrows…which was ridiculous), I figured that I could throw in another bridesmaid if I wanted to. “But I mean, it’s _my_ wedding. I can do it if I want to.”

“I guess,” Kate slowly agreed. “I just wouldn’t want Grace to be hurt by it.”

“Yeah, that’s nice and everything,” I waved a hand, dismissing this fear, “but the chances that I’m going to be totally freaking out on that day are really high, and considering that you’re the only person I know who’s done this before, I think it’ll make me feel better to have you around.”

Kate smiled. “I’m flattered. Of course I’ll do it, but ask Grace first.” Before I could tell her just how little I cared about Grace’s opinion on the matter, she pointed a finger at me. “I’m _serious_!”

Finding a way to bring this up to Grace without pissing her off too much got added onto the list of things I had to do, and it took some priority because we’d have to get Kate’s dress started as soon as possible. Finding someone to make the wedding cake, however, also took priority and was way more fun than walking on eggshells around my sister, so I decided to try and get that out of the way first. Harry and I were gorging ourselves on cake samples (it was research!) when my phone rang. “Hey Ma.”

“Hey Rox. Are you busy?”

“Not really. Just eating enough cake to give me Type II diabetes. What’s up?”

“I was just thinking that Grace and I should probably head over there soon to help you out and see how the plans are going.”

“Yeah. Plus, you have to have a fitting,” I reminded her. She, Grace, and Eddie had all had their measurements taken and sent them to the designers, but they’d need an actual fitting before the wedding. 

“And um…well, I was thinking…” She took a deep breath and started over. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I think that, if it means that much to you, then I should probably go ahead and move closer to you. I wouldn’t want…history to repeat itself.” She meant that she wouldn’t want me to feel as isolated and plunged into a foreign way of life as Diana had. 

“It won’t, Mom. Thank you.” Well, that was a relief. Harry looked up with a questioning expression and a mouthful of chocolate espresso cake. I held up a finger to let him know I’d tell him what was going on in a minute. “I’ll have someone from the Palace set up flights for you.”

“From the _Palace_ ,” she repeated in an exaggerated snooty tone.

I smirked. “See, this is why you have to move here, to make sure I don’t sound like that.” When we hung up, I told Harry what was going on, put in a call to Clarence House to have them arrange flights, and sat back down with Penny and Harry and about eight pieces of cake. “Which do you like?” I asked him, hoping he’d say the one I did.

He pointed to the lemon-raspberry, crushing my hopes and dreams. “I think I like this one best.”

“No!” I half-groaned, half-laughed. “I like the chocolate grand mariner!”

Penny tapped out an e-mail in her Blackberry while solving our problem for us. “The groom’s cake will be the lemon-raspberry and the chocolate can be the wedding cake. Does that work?”

Impressed, I looked at Harry. He shrugged in agreement. “Fine with me,” I confirmed. I’d already been shown designs for the cake. It would sort of mirror my dress, with piping made to look like lace, icing the texture of velvet, piped beading, fondant flowers. It was all very impressive…if it didn’t topple over. Penny had been showing us the designs when she’d casually thrown in, “And of course you’ll want to save the top tiers for your anniversary and when you have children.” 

Harry had nudged my elbow. “How many tiers do you think we’ll have to save?”

“Lots,” I beamed up at him, and he’d leaned down to plant a kiss on my mouth, letting me know he agreed. Poor Penny, who was still timid and shy (in comparison to Ava, anyway), just awkwardly looked away.

***

I picked my mom and Grace up from the airport on Thursday morning, and Grace was half-way through her question about going to a new exhibit at the Tate when I held my hand up to silence her. “No time, Grace! We’ve got to get you to a fitting, I’m going to take you to St. Paul’s, we have to meet with Harry’s family, and find a place for Mom.”

Grace held her hands up in self-defense. “Okay, okay Bridezilla.” When I turned around to tell her off, she quickly followed up with, “I’m joking! Please keep your eyes on the road before you rear end someone again.”

With a sniff, I turned back around and muttered, “That’s not exactly what happened.”

“Did they ever catch the people who were chasing you that day?” my mom asked as I drove us towards KP. Victoria Beckham was meeting us there for a dress fitting, because it was easier to sneak her in there than it was to try and get her to my apartment sight unseen. 

“No,” I sighed. “Which is exactly what I thought would happen.”

“But there were tons of witnesses!” Grace pointed out as the black wrought iron gates opened for us. “How could they not have found them? They found the photographer who got that picture of Kate’s ta-tas.”

“They’re still looking, I just don’t think they’ll be able to find anyone. The pictures were never sold, so there’s no source like there was with Kate.”

My mom shook her head. “I don’t like that, Roxy, I don’t like that at all.”

“Oh, well that’s weird, because I’m totally okay with it,” I snapped. When she and Grace got out of the car, they both just stood there, looking at each other and then back at me. “Look, I have enough to be stressed out about right now, can we not?”

They just shrugged in silent agreement before we headed inside. “Harry’s out at a thing,” I told them. “Some museum exhibit or something.”

“He’s probably at the Tate,” Grace muttered under her breath.

“Shouldn’t you be going with him on these things now, Roxy?” my mom asked.

Didn’t we _just_ agree that we weren’t going to talk about things that stressed me out more? “Yeah. We’re doing the Well Child Awards together next week.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I almost immediately started panicking. Next week was the Well Child Awards, two weeks after that was a state dinner because the Swedish royals were visiting. And a month after that was my wedding, and I’d be somebody’s _wife_. _Holy crap…_

Before I could go into a full-blown anxiety attack, a man in red came into the kitchen to tell us that my guest had arrived. “Thanks Billy,” I smiled at him. I’d been making a concentrated effort to learn the names of the staff, which was an incredibly daunting task because there were literally hundreds of them. Seriously, Harry didn’t even know them all. 

I led my sister and mother into the living room, where Victoria Beckham was waiting, looking glamorous as ever, holding a black garment bag. “Vic, this is my sister Grace. Grace, this is Victoria Beckham.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grace shook her hand.

“Nice to finally meet the girl I’m dressing!” Victoria shared her sentiment with the smile that seemed to come both naturally and frequently when she wasn’t in public. “Now, this probably isn’t going to be a perfect fit, but _don’t worry_ ,” she emphasized, shooting me a wide-eyed look. “There’s _plenty_ of time to fix it.”

When she unzipped the black bag, Grace’s eyes widened and she let out an, “Oooh,” which I wasn’t sure was voluntary or just instinct. 

Victoria, looking proud of her creation, started telling Grace about it. “It’s nu georgette fabric, which some people are on the fence about, but I think it keeps its shape better and it’s _great_ for draping. It has a cowl neck, cap sleeves, and as you can see, a sash at the waist.”

“I’m so going to Pippa you in this,” Grace snickered. “Pippa” was now a verb used to discuss the maid of honor over-shadowing the bride. 

“Oh, I picked this dress specifically so that you wouldn’t,” I assured her. “Try it on, and if you look too good in it, I’m dyeing it lime green.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Victoria corrected me, before sending Grace out to change.

While Grace got into her dress, my mom asked, “Why don’t I try mine on now, while we’re all here?”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times before turning to Victoria. She gave my mom a friendly smile before explaining, “I’m actually not making your dress.”

“Oh?” my mom inquired curiously. “Who is?”

With a gulp, I told her, “The Emanuels.”

Okay, this may have been a weird thing to keep from my mother, but she wasn’t like normal people. Normal people might know that Princess Diana’s dress had been made by the sibling duo, the Emanuels, but they did _not_ own a VHS tape of her wedding, which they played for their daughters the way most parents popped in a Disney movie. Normal people did _not_ sit on the couch, going through a box of tissues, watching her funeral and bitterly accusing the Royal Family of being somehow responsible for her death. So I wasn’t sure how my mom was going to react to the news that this was another way Harry and I wanted to pay homage to his mother on the day.

After a pause that was entirely too long, my mother narrowed her eyes at me. “Roxanna Nicole. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, Ma, the whole theme of the wedding is paying homage to British…you know …things,” I shrugged lamely.

“Culture,” Victoria offered up for me.

“Right, that.”

“I understand that,” my mom nodded, clearly trying everything in her power not to lose all of her patience. “But I don’t want to piss anyone off.”

Okay, we were going to have to work on how she talked. “Mom, it’s not going to make anyone angry.”

“You don’t know that. It could come across as very disrespectful,” she warned me. Before I could retort that I thought the opposite was true, my mom turned to Victoria. “What do you think?”

Victoria’s jaw dropped open and she closed it and then opened it again like a fish a few times before letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t really think it’s my place to say.”

Gesturing to her, my mom insisted, “See, that’s because she thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“No she doesn’t!” I shot back.   
“I don’t,” Victoria agreed.

“And she has a _lot_ of experience with this stuff,” I added.

“If you want my honest opinion,” Victoria carefully began to explain, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. A lot of people will appreciate it, and a lot of people won’t, and the people who don’t are going to be louder about it so it will seem like there’s more of them, but there’s not. And bigger than both of those groups combined are going to be the people who don’t care.”

Turning to my mom, I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to respond. Finally, she held her hands up. “Fine. It’s your day. Whatever you want.”

With a satisfied smile, I thanked her as Grace emerged from the bathroom. “Check it out!” she instructed, twirling for us. 

“It looks awesome,” I clapped my hands together before thanking Victoria Beckham. She took some quick measurements, taking notes to make adjustments before I told Grace to take the dress off.

“Why?” she pouted, running her hands down the soft fabric. 

“Because we’ve got Mom’s fitting and then Ava’s coming over to show you what she’s got done.” My dress wasn’t complete yet, but I wanted my mom and Grace to at least see what Ava had started. She’d been working on it for the past three months, pretty much non-stop. I actually wasn’t sure when she was sleeping, and yet her energy never dulled. I’d asked her how this was possible and she’d looked me right in the eye before shrugging and offering, “Crystal meth.” When I laughed, she smirked at me and admitted that she was getting _some_ sleep here and there, and mostly living off of Red Bull. That sounded disgusting, but I appreciated her insomnia for the sake of my dress.

***

After Grace’s fitting, the Emanuels stopped by KP for a fitting for my mom. I was just grateful that she didn’t cry. The dress was great, I knew my mom would have freaked out if it made her look too old, but it didn’t. It was a pearly satin color at the top that deepened into a grey, smoky color at the hemline. The skirt was hand-pleated satin, which was loose and flowing. It was sleeveless, but they’d made a brooch-embellished chiffon jacket for her to wear in St. Paul’s so that it would be more appropriate. Both she and Grace approved their dresses, so I was glad that we’d gotten that out of the way. They were also very impressed with Ava’s design for my dress, and my mom immediately started crying, even though it wasn’t really an entire dress yet. Fanning her eyes, I tried to warn her that she would have to hold herself together on the actual day and she gave me a flat look. “Roxanna Nicole. That has a very small chance of happening.”

“Perfect,” I muttered.

The next morning we met up with Harry at St. Paul’s, and they closed down the Cathedral to tourists to let us have our privacy. Penny walked us through it all, informing my mom and Grace about the music, the floral arrangements, and how they’d get to and from the Cathedral on the day. They’d leave the hotel together (I was spending the night before the wedding at the historic London hotel, Claridges, in keeping with my theme) and go back to Clarence House in a limo that belonged to the family for the afternoon reception. They also had to get their dresses for the night reception, but I’d allowed them to get those back home, just as long as they ran them by me first. We were joined at St. Paul’s by the Bishop of London, the Right Reverend and Right Honorable Richard Chartres. “That’s a mouthful,” my mom muttered under her breath.

I shot her a glare. It had been enough of a hassle “converting” to Church of England, I didn’t need her making any smart ass remarks. My dad had been a pretty lapsed Catholic, but he and my mom had never really believed in any higher power, and I honestly felt overcome with dread and fear when I remembered what Kate said. I could be an atheist all I wanted, but I was under no circumstances to ever let anyone know. That sucked, sure, but it would suck worse to not marry Harry, or to do something that would embarrass him and his family. “And this is the very Revered David Ison,” I introduced them to the Dean of St. Paul’s, who would also be performing part of the ceremony.

My mom stifled her laughter, causing even Grace to narrow her eyes at her and give her a nudge. 

The Bishop and the Dean brought us back behind the altar to where Harry and I would be signing the register. They were explaining the historic significance of this process to them when I took a deep breath, inhaling that scent of flowers, and springtime, and oak, and something else that just made me feel totally at peace.

_“What?”_

_“I don’t know. Don’t you think it smells delicious in here?”_

_“I don’t know. It smells like a church.”_

_“Well, that’s the thing. There are some places in London that just smell so good. And…”_

_“And?”_

_“I guess…I guess I sort of always felt, like at home, that I didn’t quite fit in. I was always dancing, while everyone else around me was dating or tanning or…I don’t know what else. And since I’ve been here, it’s like I always feel like a warm, fuzzy blanket is wrapped around me. I wake up every morning and I’m…I’m just buzzing with this feeling. I think this is the first place I’ve ever felt like I’m at home.”_

I turned into Harry and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. When I looked up at him with a stupidly huge grin on my face, he smiled too, just because of how ridiculous I looked. “What?” he asked, bemused, just like he had all those years ago.

Giggling, I shrugged and reminded him, “We were here on our first date. And now we’re getting married here. I know this place like the back of my hand from how many times I watched your mom’s wedding, and now _I’m_ getting married here. It’s just…it’s totally crazy.”

Chuckling, but clearly more than a little tense, Harry replied, “I hope it’s not _too_ crazy.”

“Spice, my entire life has been crazy since I met you,” I laughed.

“I do have that effect on people,” he shrugged, before pausing and looking like he was concentrating on something.

“What’s going on in there?” I asked, ruffling his rusty hair.

He took my hand and kissed my palm, making my heart flutter. God, this was exciting. It wouldn’t have mattered where we were, how many people we were inviting to the wedding, if I had a custom made designer gown or not. It was just exciting. I liked Harry more than I liked anyone else on the planet. At any given moment, whatever I was doing, I wanted to be doing it with him. The most tedious, mundane tasks were made infinitely better if he was doing them with me. Despite popular assumption, he was really smart. He was constantly showing me different perspectives on issues that I never would have thought about before. He was one of the most generous people I’d ever met. When he cared about something, you could tell instantly because he never did anything half way. You couldn’t help but laugh when he laughed, because it was always so contagious. Oh yeah, and he was dead sexy. Good lord, he was attractive, all tall and broad-shouldered and his adorable red hair, and his hands. I loved his hands…which was a weirdly specific thing to love about someone, but whatever. And the cherry on top of all of this was that _he_ wanted to marry _me_ , for some completely crazy reason. I mean, I wasn’t going to ask and risk him realizing that it was fucking insane, but _I_ still thought it was crazy. 

“You know,” he spoke up, snapping me out of admiring his beauty, which was good, because I was about to start drooling. “I guess I haven’t thought about it in a while, because the past few years have been so boring, but…our first couple years together were… _dark_.”

For some reason, this made me laugh way harder and louder than was appropriate in an almost ancient cathedral, but I couldn’t hold it in. Tilting my head back, I let out a very full, loud laugh. “Dark” was putting it lightly, I thought. Sure, some of it had probably just been angst because we were so young, but a lot of it _was_ dark. “I know,” I agreed, wiping my eyes, which had started to leak tears from laughing so hard. “What we were thinking?”

Harry took both of my hands in his and pulled me closer into him, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I guess we thought that, even after all of that, it might be worth it.”

Yeah, I thought with a nod. It had definitely been worth it.

***

We had to leave once Penny and the Bishop and Dean had given us this run through, because we had to go look for an apartment for my mom. Harry went back to KP so as not to bring the media along on this apartment hunting adventure. They still caught us here or there, but it would have been worse if he came with us. It didn’t really matter, though, because the outing was quick. My mom dismissed every single apartment we showed her because they were too big or too expensive or the walls were too white. Yes, that was seriously a complaint she had. Eventually, with lots of reluctance on her end, we all agreed that she would move into my apartment once I was married. It was easier than trying to sell it to someone else, and with Grace and I helping out she’d easily be able to afford it. 

We also had dinner with Harry’s father and step-mother, William, Kate, George, and his grandparents, whom my mother and Grace had never met before. I briefed them all on how to act, what to say (or not say, for that matter), and the general rules of being in the Presence. “How do you remember all this?” my mom asked.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I reminded her.

“Rock, will people have to bow and curtsy to you once your married?”

“Um, yeah, but only when I’m on official business, and only commoners.”

“Commoners?” Grace snickered.

I would have smacked her arm, but we were heading in to have dinner with the Queen so I didn’t think it was appropriate.

To my absolute surprise and joy, everyone got along fine. My mom chatted with Harry’s grandmother about how the plans were coming along. Grace pulled Georgie onto her lap and drew a fire truck for him, as per his request. Prince Charles and I discussed my first official appearance, and he tried to tell me what to expect. It all went better than I could have imagined.

Later that night, when I dropped Grace and my mom off at the hotel, I let the car idle in the parking lot for a minute. “Um…you go ahead Mom, I just have to talk to Grace about something,” I told her.

My mom looked from me to Grace and back, obviously nervous about whatever it was that I needed to discuss with her. “Okay,” she slowly agreed. “I’ll…be inside.”

Grace gave me a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

“Um…look, I was just thinking…” Twisting my hands in my lap, I thought, carefully, about how I wanted to tell Grace that I wanted Kate in the wedding, too. “And this isn’t a personal, you thing at all. It’s just…something I want. I um…I was kind of thinking that it would make me feel a lot better if Kate were in the wedding, too.”

“How would that work?” she asked, sounding more curious than offended, which I was grateful for.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’d have to run it past Harry’s grandmother. It’s just …she’s the only other person who’s been in that position, and I’m probably going to need her around on the actual day.” Quickly, I assured her, “You’d still be the maid of honor.”

Grace stared at me, looking confused for a minute, before shaking her head and holding her hands up. “Roxy, it’s your wedding. Whatever you want, it’s all fine with me.”

“Really?” I beamed at her.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, as if that should have been obvious.

They were leaving the next morning, but they came over to my apartment for brunch before their plane left. A few years ago I would have rather screwed nails into my eyes than have brunch with Grace, but the fact that this trip, and the conversation about Kate being in the wedding, had gone so well was a real testament to how much had changed since I’d first moved to London. I mean, obviously, there were a lot of other ways things had changed, but the one I hadn’t expected was for my relationship with Grace to improve. 

We’d finished a pitcher of mimosas when my mom checked her watch and noted that it was about time to go. Grace nodded. “You go head, I’ll meet you at the airport.” I had just asked to be alone with Grace yesterday and my mother had looked worried. She obviously knew whatever this was about because when Grace asked, my mother just agreed to this plan and gave me a forehead-kiss goodbye. As soon as the front door shut, I tensed up. There was obviously something wrong. “So…something’s sort of come up,” Grace started.

I literally felt all of my blood drop to my feet. “Oh god. What is it?” My immediate fear was that she’d changed her mind about Kate being in the wedding. Oh God, now this was going to be a fight…

Taking a deep breath like she was preparing me for something awful, she finally stated, “Dad’s been…back in touch.”

Well, that was way worse than what I’d thought. In fact, other than getting stood up at the altar, St. Paul’s Cathedral burning down, and the Earth opening up and swallowing us whole, this was the worst possible thing that could happen. “With _who_?” I asked.

“With mom. And me.”

“Of _course_. Of course _now_ he’s back in touch,” I implied the obvious. How many other “friends” had come out of the woodwork since I’d started dating Harry?

Grace shrugged. “He says it’s not like that.”

“And I’m supposed to believe anything that he says because…?”

“Okay, fair enough. He says that he wants to help with the whole religion thing. Maybe he can talk to the press and tell them that you’re not Catholic.”

“That’s completely unnecessary. I already converted, and, newsflash, nobody cared! I _don’t_ need his help. I’ve _never_ needed his help.”

“He doesn’t think you need it, Roxy. He was just offering. So you want me to tell him that’s a no, then?”

“What? No! Grace, you don’t have to tell him anything! And neither do I!”

Holding her hands up in surrender, Grace ceded, “Okay, okay, don’t shoot the messenger.”

I took a sip of tea. “You’re right. Sorry.” Running and hand through the thick dark curls I’d inherited from my deadbeat dad, I asked, “How long have you been talking to him?”

Shrugging, Grace tried to get away with a vague, “A while.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “How long is ‘a while?’”

“Um…I guess since that French magazine published that story about him.”

That had happened while Harry and I were on holiday in Paris. It was the first vacation we’d ever taken together. Ten years ago. “ _Ten years_?! You’ve been talking to Dad behind my back for _ten years_?”

“I didn’t say anything because I knew you would be pissed! And we haven’t been talking the whole time. It’s been off and on. It’s just recently that we’ve been seeing a therapist every couple of months.”

Okay, I was going to be sick. I was two seconds away from vomiting the scrambled egg whites I’d just eaten, all over the kitchen. “I…I can’t…” Everything about this was both terrible and unbelievable, but the part that made me feel the worst about it all was that I’d been kept in the dark for ten years. “I can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me. And I can’t believe you would even _think_ about _maybe_ speaking to him after everything that he did to us!”

“There’s no need to get so pissed, Roxy. I didn’t think I had to tell you! It was _my_ decision to make about _my_ life,” she argued.

“No, it was fucking not!” I shouted, leaping up from the couch for no real reason other than that I needed some physical outlet for my rage. “Don’t you understand that, Grace? You _have_ no life anymore! There are _no decisions_ that you make without talking to me, first!”

Grace’s jaw dropped open. She stared at me like a fish for a while before finally shaking her head. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Rolling my eyes, I scoffed, “Oh come on, Grace! You’ve talked to Pippa! What did you think would happen?”

Grace didn’t answer my question, she just stood up and grabbed her purse. As she stormed out of the room, she called behind her, “If Pippa’s so good at all this shit, then maybe _she_ should be your maid of honor!”

I shouted back, “Maybe she will!” right before Grace slammed the door.


	127. Who Giveth This Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Woah,” was Harry’s response when I relayed to him what Grace had told me that morning. As soon as she’d left, I’d gone over to KP, but Harry was across the way at his dad’s getting his uniform hemmed for the wedding. He’d had to run his uniform choice past the Queen first, but in the end it had been decided that he’d be wearing his Blues & Royals uniform, the same one he’d worn to Will and Kate’s wedding. Since he hadn’t been around when I’d gotten there, I’d trudged up to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed, silently fuming at Grace’s audacity (how _dare_ she bring this up to me, _now_ of all times?) until I heard him call, “Fox?” up the stairs.

Now we were sitting at the kitchen table, and Harry looked just as shocked as I felt. “Uh, chyeah,” I scoffed, agreeing with his reaction.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Harry shrugged. “Well, you shouldn’t be angry with Grace because of this, it’s not her fault he wants to talk.”

“No, but it’s her fault for lying to me about it for _ten years_ ,” I shot back.  
“Not _exactly_ ten years,” Harry muttered. When he saw the icy glare I was giving him, he held his hands up in self-defense. “Right, not the point.”

When he didn’t say anything else, just bit down on his bottom lip, I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You _clearly_ think I should talk to him!”

“I never said that,” he countered. I waited expectantly for him to admit that I was right. When he slowly started with, “ _But_ ,“ I let out a groan that he seemed to ignore and he continued, “I do think you should at least consider it.”

“You are out of your ever-loving mind, Wales,” I told him. “Seriously, you need to get your head examined. I’ll call Dr. R.”

Harry reached over and brought my hand to his lips, kissing my fingertips. “I just think it would be nice for you to get something I never had.”

“And what is that?”

“Closure,” he offered. “And the chance to say goodbye.”

For some reason, this made me spontaeneously burst into tears…probably because I was supposed to be getting married in front of millions of people in a little over a month and hadn’t slept eight hours since approximately last summer. Harry, still holding my hand in one of his, reached forward with the other and wiped away a tear. “I don’t need closure,” I insisted, although the tremble in my voice contradicted that statement. “That’s not a thing. People just make it up so you can feel better at the end of a movie where someone dies. Like that scene at the end of _The English Patient_ where Voldemort and that woman who’s married to Colin Firth are in the plane but really they’re all dead.” 

Harry shook his head. “We must have seen two very different versions of that film because Voldemort was not in the one I saw.”

“You know who I mean.”

“Ralph Fiennes.”

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t you just say Ralph Fiennes?”

“Because Voldemort came to mind first and you knew who I meant! Now stop bothering me!” I accused, realizing that it sounded like Harry and I had already been married for about twenty years.

“I’m just saying that I don’t think German fighter pilots would be interested in Voldemort’s plane.“ 

"Hey, you don’t know what German fighter pilots and Voldemort…wait a minute!" Harry smirked as I wiped under my eyes. "This is serious!”

Kissing my forehead, Harry continued his point. “Maybe closure isn’t real, and maybe you’ll end up feeling exactly the same as you did before. But don’t you think you might be able to give him a second chance? What if you never gave me one?”

I shook my head. "Don’t compare yourself to that monster. You and he are _nothing_ alike.”

Harry shrugged. “We’re both human. People make mistakes.”

“Leaving your family and never bothering to include a birthday card in your alimony payments is a pretty easy mistake _not_ to make,” I insisted.

This time, when Harry made his rebuttal, he actually looked like he regretted having to do it. Wasn’t he supposed to be on my side in this? Wasn’t that what marriage was about? Why was he fighting me on it? My dad was a piece of garbage - he’d known about this since the first Christmas we’d spent together. I didn’t see why he seemed to be so invested in getting me to talk to the man. “So is getting addicted to heroin.”

Leaning forward, I planted a kiss on Harry’s mouth. I didn’t really care about the point he was making, which was of course that humans weren’t perfect and maybe there would be some value in meeting with my dad. I cared more about the fact that he was seeing even a little bit of likeness between them. It was like hearing someone talk badly about your friend, only the person was Harry about himself. 

When I pulled away, I rested my head on Harry’s chest, already exhausted from even the possibility of considering seeing my father. Harry ran his fingers through my hair and let out a deep breath. Usually in times like these it helped me when he wove an elaborate and detailed version of our future, but now he said something simple that still managed to make me feel better. “We’ll never be like them, Fox. We’ll never be like our parents. We love each other too much." I sighed into him, absolutely certain that he was right.

***

When I knew that she and my mom had landed back in the States, I called Grace, figuring that I should probably apologize for threatening to replace her with Pippa. “Hey,” I mumbled when she answered. Grace didn’t say anything. She was going to make this painful for me. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was just…surprised.”

Finally, she sighed before admitting, “I get it. My timing could have been better.”

“Yeah, well…”

Grace paused. “So…you still think you’re just going to…leave it be?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Harry thinks I should talk to him. He says I should do it to get closure.”

Grace scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not a thing.”

“Right?” I blurted out, feeling grateful. “That’s what I said!”

“Totally,” Grace agreed. “‘Closure’ is just a word someone made up to make things get wrapped into a nice little bow for TV or something. Like that movie with Voldemort and the Holocaust.”

“Oh my God! I just said that! _The English Patient_!”

“No, not that one, the other one.”

“ _Schindler’s List_?”

“No, the one with…” Grace paused before interrupting her own thought. “What is with that guy and the Holocaust movies?" Before I could speculate, she continued, "I mean that one where he reads to Kate Winslet and then he goes to prison and gets all her books and feels better about like, the entire Holocaust.”

“ _The Reader_ ,” I noted, and then had to giggle at the fact that Grace and I had both immediately thought about Ralph Fiennes movies for no other reason except that sometimes siblings just understood each other in a way that was inexplicable. After we were both done (probably inappropriately) laughing at the amount of Holocaust movies starring “Voldemort,” I asked, “So…you _don’t_ think I should talk to Dad?” 

With another sigh, Grace corrected me. “I think you should do whatever you want to do, Rock. Talk to him, don’t talk to him – it’s up to you.”

Well, that solved nothing…except listing Ralph Fiennes’s entire IMDb profile.

After a distracted dress fitting, an appointment to look at vehicles to take me to the Cathedral (the Queen had vetoed me on a car ride back) during which I retained no information and made no decisions, and two restless nights, Harry finally insisted, “For God’s sake, Fox, just call him.”

“ _What_?” I all but shouted.

“If you’re this conflicted about it, then a part of you, a _big_ part of you, wants to call him. So just do it.” Before I could argue ( _of course_ a part of me was curious!), Harry added, “If you don’t, then you’ll always wonder, ‘What if?’”

Taking a deep breath, I looked Harry in the eye. He waited expectantly, probably for me to tell him that he was right and I would call my dad first thing tomorrow morning. “If you think about it, Voldemort really is just wizard Hitler.”

Harry’s mouth twitched for a second, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook. Taking my head in his hands, he insisted, “Fox. At the very least I know you’re curious about what he has to say. If you call him, if you talk to him, I’ll be right by your side." 

I exhaled and gave one of his hands a squeeze. "Promise?" Harry crossed his fingers over his heart and suddenly the whole thing didn’t seem so scary at all.

***

At this point I was used to my father fucking everything up, so I didn’t know why I was so surprised that he was doing it now. I didn’t call him, I had the Princes Office contact him, so that he knew just how busy and important I was, which was _far_ too busy and important to make him any sort of priority. I also had to give them a copy of my jam-packed schedule so they could try to set up a meeting with him, _and_ everyone had to do this in total secrecy.

I wasn’t sure how, but the Palace was able to fit in an hour-long meeting, at _most_ , in between my fittings with Ava and final approval run bys for the Queen. It made me feel incredibly smug that I was making the man fly across an ocean for an hour-long conversation. I even set it up at Buckingham Palace for the intimidation factor. While I was trying to put on a brave face, Harry still knew to be every bit the supportive soon-to-be husband that I could have ever wanted.

So, before we walked into the white drawing room, where, in just a few weeks, Harry and I would be having our wedding reception, Harry took my hand. “Are you ready, Fox?”

Blowing out a breath, I admitted, “I have no idea.”

Harry gave me his Diana smirk. “Well, let’s find out.”

I’d seen recent pictures of my dad - well, more recent than my memory - in the _Closer_ article from ten years ago, but I was still surprised to see him not looking the way he had when I was a kid. He’d gained a bit of a belly and traded in the long, black curls (the same black curls I’d inherited and that Grace had somehow evaded) pulled back into a ponytail for a closer cropped, salt and pepper look. He had more lines in his face than I remembered, but one thing hadn’t changed; he still wore the same gold ring on his pinky finger that he’d always worn, the one with St. Paul etched into it.

I was suddenly struck with a memory that I probably hadn’t thought of in over a decade. We were in church, at a midnight mass before Christmas, with Abuela. I was sitting on my dad’s lap as we recited the Lord’s prayer. The whole rest of the congregation was going it in English, but not my father and Abuela. They were repeating it in a language that I couldn’t speak, but I could always understand. As they prayed ( _Padre nuestra, que estas en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre_ ), I plucked the gold ring from my father’s pinky finger and stared down at St. Paul, with his long beard, staring back up at me with pleading eyes. And there, in that warm church, my father’s prayer whispering through my hair, with the candles and their sputtering flames and dripping wax, and the sound of the wind howling outside, causing the snow to swirl around and around until it finally, softly fell to the ground to dust the earth, I knew that I was safe, and warm, and loved.

But I hadn’t been loved, because a father who loved his children wouldn’t just leave them. A father who loved his children wouldn’t just walk out one day and never look back, never call, never even send a birthday card. A father who loved his children wouldn’t flee to another state, marry another pretty blonde woman, and have two new daughters, the ones he’d really wanted anyway. 

Why had I let Harry talk me into this?

Figuring that it was too late to back out now, I took a deep breath and looked up at my dad, his eyes the color of coffee beans, the one trait I _hadn’t_ inherited. Determined not to be the one who spoke first, I tried to give him my iciest stare until he finally cleared his throat. “Roxanna.”

“Harry, this is my father, Santiago DeLaSearle,” I introduced him.

Reaching forward, Harry held his hand out to shake my dad’s. “Doctor,” Harry acknowledged, and I noticed that he didn’t tell my dad that it was nice to meet him. I also noticed how brown my dad’s skin looked when he shook hands with Harry. Christ, was that how we looked when we held hands? I certainly hoped not, because it looked ridiculous. Harry’s skin seemed far too pale, milky white and washed out, and my dad’s was the color of wet sand. I wasn’t sure why, it just looked all wrong, but that was probably only because Harry was amazing and my father was the spawn of Satan and those two things should never be close enough to be touching.

“Nice to meet you,” my dad told Harry.

“Your Royal Highness,” I followed up in a clipped tone. When my dad gave me a confused look, I repeated, “It’s nice to meet you, Your Royal Highness. That’s how you talk to him.”

“That’s not necessary,” Harry tried to intervene.

“It’s necessary if I say it is,” I shot him a glare, and he nodded slowly. 

We all sat down in an uncomfortable silence. I had every intention of letting my dad shift uncomfortably in his seat for the next hour, but Harry finally spoke up. “Doctor DeLaSearle, I think Roxanna and I are both curious as to why you chose to reach out to her now.” 

My dad took a deep breath and Harry placed a palm on my knee, to brace me for whatever came next. I noticed that my dad’s eyes focused on it, and he reached up and tugged at his collar. Clearing his throat, he spoke up. “ _Porque_ …many reasons. I wanted to before, when you first started…” he trailed off, his black eyes again darting down to Harry’s hand on my knee, “getting photographed. But I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

“You were right.”

With a heavy sigh, he offered, “I thought I could tell whomever I’m supposed to tell, that you were never baptized Catholic.”

“I don’t need you to do that. I already converted to Church of England.”

There was another agonizingly long pause. Finally, he gulped and shrugged. “Who’s going to walk you down the aisle?”

Letting out a loud laugh, I assured him, “I have no idea, but it certainly won’t be you! I can’t believe you would even think that was a possibility!”

Another trait I’d inherited from my father was his short patience. “Roxanna,” he finally let out, clearly exasperated, opening his hands wide in front of himself. “If you didn’t want to talk then why did you agree to meet me?”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, I gestured to the room around us. “Because, I wanted you to see _this_. _All_ of this. _This_ is the man I’m going to marry, and he’s a prince. _Literally_ , a prince. And we’re in Buckingham fucking Palace, where I’m going to have my wedding reception. And the reason I’m getting all of these things, by the way, is because I worked my ass off to get a full ride to a great ballet academy, and I did really fucking well there, and I became the principle dancer of the Royal Ballet Company, and I did all of that without _any_ help from you.” Clearing my throat and trying to blink back the angry tears burning my eyes, I told him, “ _That’s_ why I agreed to this.”

“I know you’re angry,” he allowed.

“Angry? Why would I be angry that you left us one night, completely on our own to fend for ourselves? Why would I be angry that the electricity got shut off in the wintertime? Often. Why would I be angry that Mom had to go on food stamps? Why would I be angry that you never even bothered to call, or even send a fucking birthday card? Why would any of that make me angry?”

My dad opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He was quiet for a long time, and I could tell he was thinking about something. “Roxanna…what, exactly, do you think happened between your mother and I?”

“Um, you left us,” I answered. “It doesn’t take the art of deduction to figure that out. I was there, I know what happened.”

He paused, and then let out a breath, clearly wondering what he should say next. “Roxanna, I left that night because your mother told me to.”

I let out another loud, hollow laugh. “That’s hilarious, really. Mom probably _begged_ you to leave us for broke and here I was, this whole time, thinking that you were just an asshole!”

“No,” he shook his head. “That part of the story is right. Roxanna, I’m an alcoholic. That’s why your mother asked me to leave.” He waited to gauge my reaction. When I said nothing, he tried to further explain himself. “I’m an alcoholic. I was drinking, and things got…bad, and your mother told me to leave, and not to come back. So I did. She didn’t want me having any more contact with you and Gracie, it was part of the divorce settlement that she got full custody.” Again, he paused for me to speak up. I stayed silent, waiting for him to spin any more bullshit he had saved up. He’d invented this lie, I might as well let him run with it. “That night I…I came home, and I was drunk, and I’d been working for…I don’t know, three days straight, with no sleep. And Gracie needed money for some cheerleading uniform or something, and you were crying. You wouldn’t stop crying. We kept asking what you wanted, but you didn’t say anything…just kept screaming and crying.” He looked like he was somewhere far away now, back in our shitty house in Jersey, where my mother still lived. “So I just…I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Harry bristled on the couch next to me. “I just meant to… _yo no se_. I hit you.” When my dad said this, he paused for a while, like he'd just now accepted the reality of that action, and then swallowed. “I hit you,” he repeated. “And you fell against the corner of the table, and banged your head. I wanted to take you to the hospital, but your mother told me to go, and not to come back so…I left,” he shrugged, helplessly. “Three days later, I checked myself into a rehab center, and I was sober for a long time. I…had a relapse ten years ago, when I first saw your picture in a magazine and tried to reach out to Gracie. She wasn’t exactly receptive at first.” My heart flared up. Was he seriously blaming his alleged relapse on Grace?

“Bullshit,” I interrupted.

“Fox,” Harry murmured.

“Bullshit! This is bullshit!” I accused in a shrill voice that didn’t sound like mine. Those tears of anger were stinging my eyes again and I turned to Harry so that my poor excuse for a father wouldn’t see them. “He knows what happened with you and he thinks we’ll feel bad for him and let him into our…this,” I gestured to the space between us. “What’s your angle?” I asked him. “Money? Do you want money?”

“I have money, Roxanna,” he rolled his eyes at me. “I’m not lying. Ask your mother if you want.”

“I don’t have to! Mom would never lie to me about this!” I argued. Then, standing up from the couch, I brushed myself down. “You can go now, we’re done here.”

“Fox,” Harry stood up with me and rubbed his hand in small circles on my back. “Let’s just take a breath.”

“I don’t need to take a breath! He’s lying, just like he always lied! I don’t even know why I let him come here, this was a _huge_ mistake!” And, before my dad could make any movement to leave, I stormed out of the room, hearing Harry apologize in my wake. 

***

“I mean, can you _believe_ him?” I asked my mom on the phone later that night. I’d had the wedding stuff to distract me after the disaster of a sit-down with my dad, which was good because it stopped me from sitting around being angry all day. “The only reason I agreed to meet with him was because I didn’t think that he could actually make anything worse. I should have known that if anyone could do it, it’s him!”

“Roxy…” My mom drew in a deep breath. “Technically, what he said…is true.”

“Ma, you don’t have to cover for him to make him sound better. He’s a lying…liar, who lies,” I stammered out in my anger.

“Yeah, he is, but this time he’s telling the truth.”

There was long pause before I asked, “…What.”

With a heavy sigh, my mom explained, “He did hit you that night, and I did tell him to leave. I told him not to come back or even speak to us again until he got sober. Until he started calling Grace again, I assumed he hadn’t.” At my stunned silence, my mom tried to hurriedly further explain herself. “I never meant for it to be forever, Roxy. I didn’t know that he would do…what he did. I thought he’d get clean and then things would go back to normal, I didn’t think he’d disappear.”

“That doesn’t matter!” I shouted at her through my tears, causing Harry to look up from where he was eating my shitty attempt at cooking dinner. “You said one stupid thing while you were pissed and it ruined my whole life!”

“I wasn’t pissed, Roxy, you were screaming, and bleeding everywhere!” she insisted. “I had to take you to the hospital, you needed nine stitches! You hit your head so hard, you don’t even remember that it happened. I wasn’t _pissed_.”

“You ruined everything! And you’ve been lying to me this whole time!” Harry reached over and squeezed my hand, but I yanked it out of his grip.

“Roxy, you’re being a little dramatic.”

“I can’t believe you just said that to me. I have to go.”

“Roxy.”

“I have to go,” I repeated, hanging up…and then I threw my phone across the room.

Harry patiently waited before asking, “Do you want to explain?” When I opened my mouth to tell him about my conversation with my mom, I completely broke down. Harry reached out, pulling me into him. “It’s okay, Fox. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” 

I rested my cheek against his broad, strong chest, sobbing for way longer than I probably should have. My tears and snot left splotches on his shirt. He just waited for me to get my shit together, which took a while. When I finally did, I blinked up at him and told him that my mom had basically just confirmed everything my dad had told us that afternoon. “I mean, I just found out in the past week that basically everybody in my life has been lying to me for…forever!”

“I know it feels that way,” Harry sympathized, "but they were just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need their protection!” I insisted. With a few more deep, shaky breaths, I tried to explain how shitty I felt. “I’m supposed to get married in a month and…I don’t know, a few days.”

“Eleven days,” Harry informed me.

“In a month and eleven days, and I can’t trust _anybody_.”

I sat there, sniffling for a minute, looking down into my hands twisting in my lap. I hiccupped a few times and Harry raised my chin with his index finger, so I was looking him in the eye. “You can trust me.”

Since I'd gotten the news that my mother and sister had been keeping a monstrous secret from me for the past ten years, and that my father wanted to get back in touch with me, Harry had expressed this sentiment more than once. He had been there for me through all of it, and I was extremely grateful. But, as I remembered his insistance that we'd never be like our parents because we loved each other too much, I couldn't help but think...didn't everyone feel that way right before they got married? Certainly, no one went into a marriage thinking that it would end with tears and slamming doors and bitter legal disputes drawn out for years, and the only communication is between attorneys who were probably laughing at your pain all the way to the bank.  
There was also the other, freshly opened wound that my father and mother had cut into me. My dad, like Harry, was an addict. And he'd had several years of sobriety under his belt when he'd relapsed. The possiblity of seeing Harry like that again, the center of his irises shrunken into pinpoints, the beads of sweat dripping off his forehead, the sour look of someone I didn't recognize, chilled my spine.

Since Harry knew everything all the time (which was annoying sometimes…like now), he drew his hands back. “That’s not fair, Roxy.”

“He relapsed,” I shook my head. “Did you hear that? He relapsed. He’s been sober how long, and he relapsed in the middle of it, just because he saw a picture of his own daughter in a magazine.”

“And I _never_ have, I’ve never even come close.”

“You still have to take meetings.” It was rare, but when he was particularly stressed out Harry would let me know that he had to go to a meeting or call Dr. R.  
“It’s a lifelong disease, Roxy!” he reminded me, pushing his chair back from the table with a scrape and throwing away the dinner…most of which he hadn’t eaten…because it was terrible. I usually liked to cook but clearly tonight I'd been too distracted, which is how we'd ended up with crunchy and over-salted risotto.  
“I know that!” I insisted. “That’s what I’m worried about!”

“Well you’ve never been worried about it before.”

“I’ve never had a reason to be!”

“You don’t now!” Harry pointed out, leaning against the sink. He took a deep breath and ran his hands (his lovely, lovely hands) through his hair. “I know you’re…disappointed that they didn’t tell you this. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust them, and it certainly doesn’t mean that you can’t trust me.” He headed back over to me and held his hand out, pulling me up out of my chair. “That’s the whole point of all this,” he reminded me, lifting my left hand so I could get another good look at the big, sparkling rock on my finger. “Because, when you feel like you can’t trust anyone, or can’t stand anyone else at the moment, you know that _I’ll_ still be here,” he finished. 

I thought about what he said for a minute. He hadn’t chosen to say that when I couldn’t trust anyone, I could trust him, and when I couldn’t stand anyone, I could stand him. I guessed that’s what marriage was. Sometimes I probably wasn’t going to be able to stand him, either. Hell, we’d had plenty of fights in the past where I’d stormed off to the solace of my apartment because I couldn’t stand the sight of him until he apologized. In the end, though, we always got out of it. Whatever it was, we always found a way to put the pieces back together and be happy again. It usually didn’t even last that long. 

When he’d overdosed, all those years ago (good God I was young…), I’d broken up with him a few weeks before because I could just tell that something wasn’t right. Marriage, though, wasn’t something I could just walk away from if I thought he was falling down the rabbit hole again. If he relapsed, and there were no guarantees that he wouldn’t, we’d get through it together, just like we always did, as Harry had reminded me at the Surrey house on my birthday weekend. Harry was promising to always be there for me, but I was supposed to reciprocate.

I could make a choice, right now, right here in our kitchen. Either I could keep him at a distance, not trust him, and enter a marriage that would be doomed from the start, or I could stop being a fucking idiot and realize that of _course_ I could trust him. Taking a deep breath, I stood up on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss. “I know. I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling kind of embarrassed for being such a jerk.

Kissing my forehead, he murmured, “It’s okay.” He pulled away and took me by the shoulders. “Do you think, maybe, you should talk to him again?”

“Oh yeah, because it went so well the first time.”

“Right,” he nodded. “But now…things are different, aren't they?”

“No,” I slowly shook my head. “I don’t care if he was jerk because he was a drunk, he was a jerk.”

“Well, yeah, but don’t you think he deserves to know that you know he was telling the truth?”

Again, unwilling to admit defeat, I asked, "Do you think Voldemort was an alcoholic?"  
*** 

Harry drove me to the hotel where my dad was staying, the Dorchester. It was a pretty famous landmark hotel in London. He really wasn’t kidding about not needing the money…

With my hood pulled up and huge sunglasses on, I headed inside, up to my dad’s hotel room. I’d had someone from the Palace call him and tell him I was coming, although I had sort of hoped that I could just show up randomly, keep some element of mystery and surprise. When he opened the door, however, he still did look surprised to see me. _Fair enough_ , I thought as he opened the door to let me in. When I headed inside, I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. My dad packed his suitcase (a scene all too familiar) and waited for me to talk. Finally, clearing my throat, I told him, “So…I talked to Mom.”

“I know,” he nodded. “She told me.”

“Right.” I looked down, wringing my hands, before admitting, “She told me…you were right. About what happened, I mean.”

“I know that, too.”

“Can you not, for a second?" I snapped, resenting that Grace and I inherited our sass from our father. "I came over here to apologize, and you’re not making it easy.”

“ _Lo siento_ ,” he apologized, holding his hands up. “That’s not what I meant.”

Taking a deep breath, I continued. “Look, I’m assuming you know what happened with me and Harry…before. With his…problem.”

My dad nodded slowly. “I know he’s an addict, if that’s what you mean.”

“Recovering,” I sternly corrected him. “Recovering addict.” Well, I knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. With another deep breath, I rushed out what I’d come here to tell him. “I just came here to tell you that…if you wanted to come back to London and…talk with me and a doctor I have here, like you do with Grace…I wouldn’t be totally opposed to it.” The corners of his mouth flicked up into a smile. “Don’t get your hopes up, you’re not coming to the wedding or anything.”

My dad cleared his throat and nodded, understanding. “ _Claro que, no. _”__

__When I saw that his dark eyes started to get rimmed with red, I awkwardly shifted my position so I was standing up straight. “Well…bye then.”_ _

__“Roxanna,” he spoke up when I reached the door. When I turned around, he asked, “Did I hear him call you ‘Fox?’”_ _

__“You did,” I nodded slowly._ _

__He smiled again, for a fraction of a second. “I used to call you – “  
“I remember,” I told him, before he could tell me what I already knew. I left the room, got into the elevator, and pulled my hood back up, putting on my sunglasses and hoping to God that no one else got in the elevator. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying, because I could remember the way my dad used to call me “Zor.” It was short for “zorro.” It meant “fox.”_ _

__***_ _

__When I got back in the car, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and rested my head back against the headrest. Harry waited for me, reaching over and pulling off my sunglasses. After a while and several deep, rattling breaths, he leaned forward over the center console. I met him halfway, giving him a kiss that tasted like tears. It had been a tough couple of days. “I’m proud of you, Fox,” he murmured, our foreheads still pressed together._ _

__My heart swelled. I could have fucked up every other aspect of my life, and I’d still have this. There were a handful of moments Harry and I had shared that I’d catalogued in my memory, just knowing that, if things ever got really bad in our marriage, I would look back on those times and know that, at the heart of things, we had a _really_ solid foundation here. This was one of those times. _ _

__We were nearly back to Kensington when I took in a sharp breath. My stomach flopped slowly with nerves as I timidly asked, “Can we go to Clarence House?”_ _

__Frowning, Harry turned to me. “Why?”_ _

__I gave him a look, hoping that now would be one of those times he could read my mind, and shrugged. Thankfully, he knew exactly what I was trying to say, and steered the car in the direction of Clarence House. When we got there, Harry asked a staff member (who’s name was Daniel, I knew from my studying) if Prince Charles was in. “He may be in bed already, Your Royal Highness, I’ll check,” and he bowed before scuttling off to knock on Prince Charles’s door._ _

__I suddenly got incredibly nervous, and I must have looked it because Harry gave my hand a squeeze. When Daniel came back to tell us that Prince Charles would be down in just a moment, Harry thanked him and led me into a sitting room, ringing for tea. Prince Charles joined us in pajamas and a bathrobe, and I felt a little embarrassed, as well as guilty for making him get out of bed. I stood up to greet him, the way I was supposed to. “Sorry, I hope you weren’t sleeping,” I apologized._ _

__“Quite all right, I was just reading,” he assured me._ _

__Daniel came back into the room and set tea before us. My hands were shaking so bad that I could hardly add sugar into my tea without spilling it all over the place. Prince Charles looked to Harry for an explanation, but he just turned to me, waiting for me to speak up. I bit down on my lip and gave him a pleading look, but he shook his head. “I think you should be the one to do it.”_ _

__“Right,” I mumbled. Then, turning to Prince Charles, I tried to take a deep breath and hold it together long enough to explain myself and ask what I had come here to ask. “Um…you probably know that my dad…isn’t going to be the one to walk me down the aisle.”_ _

__Prince Charles nodded slowly. “Yes, I had assumed as much.”_ _

__I cleared my throat…a couple of times. “Well…I was wondering if…if maybe you would do it.” When I finally mustered up the courage to look at him, Prince Charles’s eyes had widened in surprised. “You don’t have to,” I hurriedly tried to cover my tracks. “It was a stupid idea, forget I even said anything.”_ _

__He held up a hand and I pursed my lips. “No, of course.” Taking a deep breath, he nodded, his blue eyes getting misty. I had only ever seen this happen once before, when we’d told him about Harry’s brush with death after his overdose. Reaching forward, Prince Charles took my hands in both of his. “It would be an honor, my sweet Roxanna.”_ _

__For the first time out of all of this turmoil, I didn’t try to hold back my tears. I just let them flow. “Thank you.”_ _

__Harry leaned over and kissed my temple, and I felt like my heart was going to burst. Maybe my past was fucked up. Maybe I came from a broken family. But I was making a new one with the people in this room. I was getting a second chance._ _


	128. What's Next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

It wasn't completely lost on me that I would probably need to call up Dr. Rosenblum for some sessions about that mess of an encounter with my father, but it was going to have to wait until after the wedding, because I had some serious shit to do. Harry pointed out that most of the things for the wedding were all nailed down, so I shouldn't have to delay therapy, but he didn't push further when I told him, "Even if that is true, I don't want to right now, so lay off." He was such a lovely man for putting up with me, especially when he was right and I was mostly just being a pain in the ass. I’d asked Victoria Beckham to design my reception dress, which she was willing to do, and she had already started working on Kate’s dress, identical to Grace’s. I had nailed down the music with the help of Prince Charles, and even Willian, and transportation was all set. Unfortunately, Harry’s gran wasn’t too keen on the idea of he and I leaving the reception in an open topped car. “This isn’t a parade for a beauty queen, Roxanna.” I certainly wasn’t going to put up a fight.

I should have been a little more relaxed now that everything was squared away, for the most part, but I wasn’t. Harry had done a handful of official engagements since we’d gotten engaged, but I’d been so busy with the planning that we’d decided that I wouldn’t take any for a while. So the fact that everything was going smoothly, of course, meant that I had to go through the completely terrifying experience of doing my first official royal event - actually, _two_ official events. The first was going to the Well Child Awards, and the second was a state dinner with the Crown Princess of Sweden and her husband. Harry had been a patron of the charity since before he met me, and before I took on any of my own patronages (I wouldn’t have to decide that until after the wedding) I was going to tag along to his. 

“It’ll be fine, Fox,” Harry tried to calm me.

“Mhm. Right,” I muttered distractedly as Ava zipped me into a purple dress from Reiss. 

Harry was already fully dressed, in a grey suit and purple tie to match me, and sitting on the bed. Tilting his head to one side, he pondered out loud, “I wonder how many hours of my life will be spent waiting for you to get ready.”

“For richer, for poorer, in dressing and in primping,” Ava smirked, handing me the earrings I was going to wear (diamond studs, not rented this time). 

“Those would make interesting but relevant vows,” Harry noted, getting off the bed and kissing my neck in the same place he always did when I was getting ready. That was his ritual. He watched me get out of the shower, put on lotion, put my makeup on (because I was too impatient to sit and have people do it, I’d taken lessons from artists on how to do it myself), do my hair (another thing I’d learned to do out of my own frustration and impatience), put on whatever I was wearing, and spritz on perfume. Then, when I was all done up and we were ready to walk out the door, he’d come up behind me, kiss my neck, and suggest a quickie. To be fair, there were times when I granted his request. This time, though, since Ava had swatted him away (trying to stick on my fascinator), he stepped back and gave me a once over. “Ava, how gorgeous is my wife-to-be?”

“She’s pretty hot,” Ava agreed with him, holding out my Burberry coat that I would wear over the dress.

I blushed and slipped the coat on before stepping into my black patent-leather pumps. “Harry, please.”

I grabbed my black clutch and we got in the car to head over to the hotel, where the awards were taking place. Sighing, Harry turned to me. “So, your first event. How do you feel?”

“I’m imaging the worst case scenario,” I admitted. When Harry opened his mouth to reassure me that he thought I was going to do fine, I added, “It seriously helps! Worst case scenario, I fall flat on my face, or someone doesn’t like what I’m wearing. Other than that, this should be fine. It’s kids. I’m good at kids,” I shrugged.

Harry kissed my forehead, a silent way of agreeing with me, before remembering, “Oh right, the Cambridges wanted to know if they should throw you a hen party and a stag night for me.”

“What will we be?”

“What?”

“What will we be? Like, they’re the Cambridges. What will we be?” I repeated.

Shaking his head, Harry answered, “I don’t know. I’ll still be a Prince of Wales, and you’ll inherit all of my titles, but our official titles on our wedding day we won’t know until that morning. My money’s on Sussex though, as is most of the Commonwealth’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, the betters anyway.”

It seemed absolutely crazy to me that people were literally making bets on my wedding. What the first song would be when I walked down the aisle, all the other music, who my dress designer would be (poor things, they’d all lose on that one), if I would cry or laugh or mess up the order of Harry’s names. It was crazy. 

_And they’ll find out in a month._ One month. We were getting married in one. Freaking. _Month_. I wasn’t sure if the feeling in my stomach was butterflies or nervous flops.

Turning to look at me, Harry slowly asked, “What’s going on in there, DeLaSearle?”

I shook my head. “I just feel like this is all flying by. I feel like…” I had to take a deep breath. “When I was seventeen and standing at JFK alone, and nervous that I wouldn’t make any friends or I wouldn’t like London…I just never imagined that this is how I’d end up.” Taking another deep breath, I shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s probably all just stuff with my dad rearing his ugly head again.”

Harry smirked at me. ”It’s odd that you think it’s going by too quickly. I feel like the wedding can’t come soon enough.” Aw. Okay, well, that was kind of cute. I reached out and gave his hand a squeeze.

As we approached the hotel, there were press outside waiting to get pictures of Harry and I. There would be official photographers from the charity and the news inside, the ones flooding the streets outside were nasty paparazzi. Still, I preferred them here to photo lenses poking out of car windows in the supermarket parking lot. “Here, smile just for a few of them,” Harry told me, but it was weird. He was smiling, like he was trying not to move his mouth that much. I smiled for a second, glancing up at him every once in a while to follow his lead. He placed a hand on the small of my back and someone from the crowd of paparazzi called out, “How are the wedding plans going, Roxy?”

Unsure of whether I should answer or not, I looked up to Harry. “They’re coming along fine,” he answered for me, and then we headed inside before anyone could ask anything else.

We were greeted by a handful of people in charge of the charity – the director, chairman, chief executive. I tried desperately to remember their names, but it all seemed to go by so quickly, in greetings and pops of light, smiles, and handshakes. “The children can’t wait to meet you,” a woman (the director? Executive something?) told me.

“Oh, yeah, I guess meeting a prince is exciting.” I had assumed she was talking about Harry.

The woman blinked. “No, _you_ , dear. The little girls just love ballerinas.”

All right, that feeling in my stomach was definitely a nervous flop. I forced out a smile at her before turning back to Harry. “How I am doing?” I asked, desperately seeking his approval.

Chuckling, he insisted, “You’re doing fine!”

“Why were you talking like a robot out there?”

“Oh, lip readers.”

“Um…huh?”

He laughed. “What?”

“What are you talking about, lip readers?”

“Yeah, I knew what you were asking. Roxy, you can’t say, ‘HUH?!’ all loud and American like that. They’ll have a field day calling you common.”  
“Oh.” I blushed. “Good to know.”

Going back to my original question, Harry explained, “They have people who will analyze what we’ve said to each other over and over.”

“Why can’t they know? It's not that interesting," I pointed out.  
“You don’t want them catching on to the fact that I’m teaching you how to be a princess out there.”

“But…don’t they know that? I mean, that’s how this works.”

“Yes, I know that, and you know that, and they know that. But if we _show_ it to them, especially once we’re already at an event, they’ll – “

“Have a field day calling me common.”  
“Exactly.”

The kids were adorable, and, with a lot of them, if I didn’t already know, I never would have been able to tell that they were sick. The woman had been right, a bunch of the little girls were in tutus, knowing that they were about to meet a ballerina, it was so sweet I couldn’t stop from hugging them all. A handful of them already knew Harry, like the kids at Sentebale, and he remembered all their names. There were very few things I loved more on this planet than watching him interact with kids. It made me want to get started on those ginger babies right away. If it were up to me, we’d definitely be making a honeymoon baby, but Harry was pretty clear that he didn’t like that idea. He wanted to give me some time to adjust to royal life before we threw a kid into the mix. The idea of tricking him into it (I could just tell him I’m still on the pill and then…not be) had crossed my mind. Actually, I still hadn’t totally ruled out the idea…

I was snapped out of my plan to trick Harry into knocking me up when I realized that someone was talking to me, an adult someone. Turning to the parent of a little girl in a pink tutu, who was clearly undergoing some extreme chemotherapy treatment, I asked, “I’m sorry?”

She smiled kindly at me. “It must be hard, getting thrown into all of this.”

I nodded at her. “I’m learning, and he’s a very willing teacher.”

“You’re doing quite well,” she praised me.

I wasn’t sure if she was just saying it to be nice or if she actually meant it, but even if she _was_ saying it just to be nice, it was a sweet thing to say. Sincerely, I thanked her, but as soon as I did, my heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. Her eyes flicked up to my fascinator. “I’m surprised you decided to wear a fascinator,” she cautiously admitted. “You don’t normally wear them.”

Before I could start myself, I blurted out, “Oh God. Am I not supposed to be wearing one?”

Seeing that she had clearly gotten me panicked, the mother tried to assure me that everything was fine. “Of course not, you can wear whatever you like!”

“But?” I asked slowly.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before mumbling, “You usually just wear them for…more outdoors events.”  
“But…but people wear them to weddings all the time!” I stammered, my desperation coming through in my tone.

“Well, those are weddings,” she offered, which only made me even more confused. “It’s fine, you look lovely!” she insisted. “Wear a fascinator if you want!”

But I didn’t want to! I thought they were stupid! I was only wearing one now because I thought I had to! Why hadn’t Ava told me that? Wasn’t that what I paid her for? _God dammit!_ Looking around the room (which, unfortunately, was free of any booze since it was an event for children), I tried to fan myself off, suddenly feeling very hot and uncomfortable. A photographer snapped a blinding photo of me, and I was certain that I would come out looking like a hot mess. _And_ there were TV crews there. Sucking in a sharp breath, I forced out a smile, determined to get through the rest of the event, and then promptly burst into tears of humiliation as soon as we left. 

It felt like a lifetime, but in just a few hours (one or two) we were back at KP. I was meeting Ava there to give her my clothes and accessories (because she knew how to keep them better maintained) before going back to my apartment…where I would wallow in my own shame and misery. “So,” Harry asked, loosening his tie, "you got through your first official event. How do you feel?”

When I yanked my stupid fascinator out, I think I took some of my own hair with it. Wincing, I answered, “It went terribly! I looked like an idiot!”

Giving me a genuinely shocked expression, Harry asked, “Were we at the same event? Because I thought you were great, and the kids loved you.”

“Yeah, the kids liked me, what do they know? They’re kids. I’m talking too much, or not at all, or my mouth is open too wide while I’m speaking. And, oh yeah, I have this stupid thing in my stupid head, which is apparently not something I’m even supposed to be wearing! Why didn’t you tell me that?’

“Sorry, I’m not well-versed in the fine art of fascinators.”

“Well why didn’t Ava say anything?” I demanded.

“She did,” Harry shrugged. “Remember? A couple days ago, she was here, and you said should you wear something in your hair and she said she didn’t think so and you said you were pretty sure you were supposed to and she said she was pretty sure you weren’t and then you said better safe than sorry and chose that,” he pointed to the feathery fascinator.

Squinting at him, I asked, “How on earth do you remember that?” Hell, I hadn’t even remembered it until just now. Annoyingly enough, he was right; Ava had warned me that the fascinator might not be appropriate.

Smirking, Harry answered, “Because she left and we had sex in the shower.”

Of course that was how he remembered it. “Dammit. Okay, well I won’t fire her… _this_ time.” I let out a sigh before looking down at the carpet and admitting, “It feels like I was doing a lot of things wrong.”

Harry took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and tried to get through to me. "You _weren't_."  
“Yes I was!” I insisted. “There are so many rules!”

Harry shrugged. “There are some… _guidelines_ ," he corrected me, trying to make the whole process sound less scary. "Learning them takes work, and time. It’s not something you just wake up one day and you’re brilliant at.”  
“You didn’t have to learn,” I muttered.

He let out a sarcastic laugh. “I spent my entire _life_ learning, and I still make mistakes. Loads of them.”

I wasn’t sure how true that was. When he was younger, yeah, he’d had some gaffs, but none as of late. “Kate didn’t have to work on it.”

“Where were you for the first year of their marriage?” Harry asked. The truth was that I hadn’t been around as much for the first year of the Cambridge’s marriage, at least not compared to how much I was around them pre-wedding, and then in the next couple of years. That year, Harry and I had mostly been broken up. “Right,” he answered his own question. “Well, there’s this video, it’s brilliant, really, of their tour in Canada, and they get there and William goes off to talk to someone and Kate’s just standing there for a minute before she just looks around and goes to shake hands. She had no idea what she was doing, she just improvised. And when they were doing the Asia tour, she was…preoccupied,” he reminded me. Of course she was. They’d been on their tour of South East Asia for about five seconds when a French magazine posted pictures of her sunbathing. Topless. “And she meant to ask, ‘Can you taste the tea by smelling it,’ because they were drinking this very strong tea, but instead she said, ‘Can you smell tea by smelling it.’”

“So?”

“So people called her stupid for ages after that! Do _you_ think Kate’s stupid?”

“No.”

“Do you think anyone else thinks Kate’s stupid now, years later?”

“No.”

“It takes _time_ , Fox. You’ll get the hang of it,” he assured me.

Once Ava came to get my things, and had given me a lecture on how she _told_ me not to wear a fascinator, I put back on my normal clothes and went to head over to my apartment. Harry held his palm up for a high-five. When I rolled my eyes and touched my palm to his, he wrapped his fingers around mine and pulled me into him. “You’ll get the hang of it, DeLaSearle,” he tried to encourage me with a light kiss on the mouth.

He was very sweet and I knew he was trying to be supportive, but our next event was a state dinner with the Crown Princess of Sweden, who, by the way, I was a huge fan of. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was me, spilling wine all down my dress or lighting something on fire, which wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility.

***

The good news was that it was a state dinner, which meant less invasive press. There would be photographers, but only in an official capacity, and the cameras would only be filming the toast at the dinner. This _should_ have been an event that Will and Kate were going to, but they had asked the Queen if they could pass it on to Harry and I to give me a learning experience. I was calling bullshit on that theory. They wanted to stay home and hump like bunnies. Okay, okay, they hadn’t _confirmed_ that they were trying again, but now that Georgie was three it seemed like they were ready for another one. 

“You know,” Harry said as Ava helped me into a car that would take us from KP to Buckingham (“Don’t wrinkle the dress, Roxy! I’ll have a heart attack!”), “when we’re married and going to events like this, you can wear a tiara.”

“Oooh, really?” I asked him with wide-eyed wonder.

“Really,” he confirmed.

My mind instantly started going through the Queen’s collection of headwear. She’d given me a couple of options as to what I could wear at the wedding, but I hadn’t made any decisions. It was kind of a huge favor to offer to someone. I knew that Crown Princess Victoria, on the other hand, had an amethyst tiara that would go perfectly with the purple Valentino dress I was wearing to the dinner tonight. It was the first time I’d ever really worn a dress like this – a floor length, silk, designer dress, and if I didn’t stop shaking, I was bound to spill _something_ on it. Well, to be honest that had a big chance of happening anyway.

Harry chuckled and I looked up at him. “What’s funny? Is there something on my face?” I asked, desperately reaching into my McQueen clutch (okay, _Kate’s_ McQueen clutch) for a compact.

“No,” he quickly put me out of my misery. “I was just remembering something funny.”

“What?”

“I actually think this will make you feel better,” he acknowledged. “Victoria’s husband - “

“Prince Daniel,” I hastily filled in before he could tell me. I was going through a pretty dense face book of who’s who in royalty, for wedding prep.

“Very good,” Harry smiled at me with a kiss on the forehead. "He was a personal trainer at first, and her parents _hated_ him. Like, really, _really_ just bloody despised him. I guess she made it pretty clear that she wasn’t going to break up with him, so they made him take prince-ing lessons.”

I paused before asking, “Um…what?”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, like, go to Royal School or something. I don’t even know.”

“Well Kate took etiquette classes,” I shrugged. That had actually happened way before she and William were even engaged, and right about now I was wishing I’d taken them, too.

“Yeah, but this was…it took _years_. They made him learn like, three different languages, history, politics, everything,” Harry explained. “Her parents kept trying to set her up with other guys they liked better.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. So the next time you complain about Camilla, remember that at least she never did that.” 

I laughed as the car pulled up to Buckingham Palace. Harry and I headed into the white hall where I’d met with my dad and where, in a month, we’d be thanking 600 of our nearest and dearest for coming to our wedding. Oh, and that was 600 out of about 2,000. Two of those 2,000 would be Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel, so at least I was getting to meet them first. Most of the other 1,998 were complete strangers. 

I’d been dating Harry a long time and I’d met a _lot_ of people whom I never would have dreamed of meeting when I was in my tiny bed in our weather-beaten house in Jersey. It wasn’t that I didn’t get star struck anymore - I still did all the time - I had just learned how to handle it better. Yes, part of dating Harry was learning how to not show every emotion on my face at any given moment. I hadn’t fully mastered the art, but I’d definitely gotten better at it. Still, I wasn’t able to completely hide my excitement at meeting Princess Victoria. In the past ten years, I’d learned the harsh truth: celebrities and royals, up close, were even more beautiful in person than they were in magazine or on television and everything. It was _super_ annoying, because I used to console myself with the fact that they were probably only that gorgeous because they spent hours in hair and makeup. But nope, nope, they were just _that_ good looking. 

Harry placed a hand on the small of my back after I’d greeted the members of his family who were there. His gran and granddad, obviously, his father and Camilla, and his Uncle Edward and Sophie. Harry never called her Aunt Sophie, I assumed because they’d gotten married when he was a little older. She was more like a friend than anything else, I was constantly forgetting that she was older than Kate and I. After I’d said hello to them, Harry steered us over to where Princess Victoria was standing in a long beige dress (I knew it was a Valentino, like mine), and wearing a tiara that I knew was called a “fringe” tiara from the style of it. Oh yeah and her body-builder husband was with her. It was kind of hard to believe all that stuff Harry had just told me, just because he looked so perfect. Seriously, he looked like a prince in a Disney movie. 

“Roxanna, this is Princess Victoria and her husband, Prince Daniel,” Harry politely introduced us, even though I clearly already knew that. 

When I shook her hand, I curtsied, even though I technically didn’t have to, but I wasn’t going to start my first official state dinner by pissing off the Crown Princess of Sweden. Besides, it was good practice. Once we got married, I’d have to curtsey to everyone when we were in public, and I just _knew_ Harry’s cousins Bea and Eugenie were going to relish making me do it. Not in a mean way, they just thought it was hilarious. Even though I was higher up in the line of succession than they were, since they’d been born blue-blooded, I had to curtsey to them. It was this whole big thing.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” I smiled at her.

“Nice to meet you,” she politely agreed with me.

Harry’s father called him over to talk with him about something, probably wedding plans, and I was left alone with the future Queen of Sweden. Great. Taking a deep breath, I wrung my hands out and tried to get my heart to stop racing. Seriously, they could probably see how hard it was pounding through my chest. After an extremely awkward pause, I cleared my throat and offered, “Your sister lives in New York City, right?” 

“She does,” Princess Victoria nodded. She had two younger siblings, Princess Madeleine and her brother, Prince Carl Philip. Actually, Victoria was two years old before the was the Crown Princess and first in the line of succession, because Sweden had changed their gender-based laws and applied them retroactively. Also, everyone in their family was kind of ridiculously good-looking, much like the Windsor clan. 

“I used to live outside of the City. It’s great,” I desperately offered up.

“It is,” she agreed.

Okay, this wasn’t going so bad. “I’ve been following all of the work you do for the environment.” 

Princess Victoria gave me a kind smile. “Thank you.”

“Harry’s dad is super into the green movement. I was thinking about taking it up as one of my patronages.” Right, it wasn’t going so bad, so I was just gonna go ahead and ruin it. Quickly, I added, “Not because it’s trendy and I want to exploit it or anything. Because…I love the earth! Who doesn’t, right?” I must have been talking really fast, because Prince Daniel gave me a confused look from behind his glasses and turned to Princess Victoria. Or I was just talking so much nonsense that he couldn't understand any of it. Feeling my heart getting yanked to my feet like there was an anchor tied to it, I let out, “Oh, God.”

Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel looked at each other for a second before they both burst into laughter. My face was probably the same purple color as my dress. Finally, Princess Victoria reached out and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’re not laughing at you,” she tried to insist. I didn’t believe her, though, because that’s exactly what they were doing, and I couldn’t blame them. “Relax. You’re doing fine.”

“Really? Because I feel like I’m messing it up. A lot.”

Prince Daniel shook his head. “You do wonderfully,” he tried to insist.

To be honest, his improper tense usage made me feel better, although I knew that was probably mean. I was starting to wish I’d gone to Royal School when, in an obvious attempt to put me more at ease, Princess Victoria asked, “What other patronages were you thinking of?”

And then, because I so desperately wanted her to like me, I told her, “Definitely something with drug addictions and eating disorders.”

_Shut. Your fucking. Mouth. DeLaSearle._

Princess Victoria had suffered from a dangerous case of anorexia in the public eye for a long time. Eventually, she had sought help and the Palace had released a statement that she was, in fact, getting treatment. For university, she’d moved to the States to get away from the press and get through her treatment in relative privacy. So bringing it up tonight was probably a _great_ idea!

To be fair, she didn’t look pissed or anything, but she was probably way better at having a poker face than I was. “Really?”

“Mhm,” I gulped, wondering how much more I should say. “You know, watching um…what Harry went through and a good friend of mine had a really bad…um…situation with anorexia…so I’ve just um…seen them do that, and honestly I think…I think it’s probably one of the hardest things a person can go through, and if you can come out on the other side of that even better than you were before, it’s um…it’s a really amazing thing to achieve.”

The beautiful couple looked at each other again, sharing a look I saw between Will and Kate all the time; they were reading each other's minds. “If that’s something you care about so much, then it should be one of your patronages,” Princess Victoria told me.

Feeling much more confident about it, I agreed, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, it should.”

Prince Daniel half-coughed, half-laughed into his palm before telling me something Harry’s step-mother had told me ten years ago. “You should use, ‘yes.’”

I blew out a breath. “I really wish they made me go to Royal School.” I was relieved when the Prince and the Crown Princess laughed some more.


	129. Being An Almost Princess Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Okay, here we go,” I breathed out to Kate, Pippa, B, Ava, Penny, and Victoria Beckham. “This is it.” 

“This is it,” B repeated, clapping her hands together. She and Pippa didn’t get to be in the wedding, which I felt terrible about. Not only did I feel guilty, but it also just made me really sad. I loved them so much and wanted them to be a part of it so badly, but I was already pushing my luck with adding Kate. I felt even worse because I hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time with them since I’d gotten engaged, and it was making me really depressed. Like I had told Harry, I sort of felt like it was all just flying by. Maybe that was my fault, for wanting to be engaged for such a short period of time, but now that we were less than two weeks away, I wanted to try and spend more time with them. If it was like this before the wedding, then I couldn’t imagine that it would be any easier to see them after. 

“The big time,” I gulped.

“The big time!”

“The real deal.”

“The real deal!”

“The home stretch.”

“The home stretch!”

“The final solution,” I blurted out, and then, as Kate and Bianca’s eyes widened and Ava and Pippa howled with laughter, I rushed out, “Nope! No, not that! That’s not the thing.”

“I certainly hope not,” Ava agreed.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Bianca softly suggested.

“I can’t sit down,” I muttered, continuing to pace. ”I definitely don’t have time for sitting. I definitely can’t sit down.”

“Calm down, Rox, you’re talking like Rain Man,” Pippa pointed out. 

There was only one thing that could make me stop pacing, and it was Victoria Beckham subtly clearing her throat and looking up at Kate. Kate looked back down at her, panic flickering behind her green eyes for just a second. She looked to Ava, who looked to Penny, who looked back to Kate. My pacing stopped immediately. “What is this? What are you doing with the eyes?”

The four of them did the whole looking thing again, trying to decide who was going to tell me whatever was going on. My stomach felt like a martini shaker and I would have screamed at them, demanding to know what was happening when Victoria finally spoke up, “Don’t worry, I can fix it.”

“Can fix _what_?” I shrieked.

“I just need to let the Duchess’s dress out a bit,” she told me with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

“What?!” I shouted. “How long will that take?” Before Victoria could answer the question, I asked, “What does that even mean?”

“It means she’s getting fat, Roxy,” Pippa said, clearly wickedly happy about this news. She joined her hands in front of her face and ran her fingertips together in a perfect impression of Mr. Burns from _The Simpsons_. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I shook my head, continuing to pace. Victoria must have made a mistake, because the only time I had ever known Kate to gain weight was when she was…I stopped pacing again. “Oh. My. God.”

When I looked back up at Kate, she was giving me a guilty smile. “I wanted to wait to announce until after the wedding.”

“Oh my God! Kate!” I threw my arms around her. “You could have told _us_!”

“Told us what?” Bianca asked.

Kate beamed at them before admitting, “I’m pregnant!”

Pippa and B leapt off the couch and we all group-hugged. When we pulled away, I realized that Bianca was wiping underneath her eyes. “B,” I nudged her. “You know they already have a kid, right?”

“All babies are special,” she insisted. “And…it’s just…I’m really happy we’re going to be pregnant at the same time.”  
The room was completely silent for about three seconds before Kate, Pippa, and I all burst into happy shrieks and group-hugged again. All right, now we were _all_ crying. 

When the dress fitting (and squealing hugs) was over, and Victoria had assured me about a thousand times that everything would be fine with Kate’s dress, Ava and Penny opened their planners. “Right, so I’m just going to brief you about the rundown of the day,” Penny started. 

“You’ll get to the hotel the night before,” Ava interrupted in a clear compulsive need to assert her dominance. “I’ll be there with the dress already. I’m getting there three days early to beat the press. And I have to stay there, and in my room, the whole time, so I might be a little crazed by the actual morning of the wedding,” she warned. If it had been up to me, I’d be getting ready in my apartment, just for the security of being in my own home. The night before the wedding, however, people would be swarming the place, many of them having camped out for days. It was just easier to orchestrate from a hotel. I could have stayed the night at one of the Palaces or royal estates, but for some reason I thought that being surrounded by royal things would be too daunting on the actual day, so I’d chosen to stay at Claridge’s. 

Before I could freak out over the reality of the fact that _I was getting married_ , Penny continued the rundown. “Kate, your mum, Grace, the pageboys and flower girls will be at the hotel the night before, too. You’ll be awake by six on the day so we can immediately get you into hair and makeup and get you in the dress.”

“That sounds early,” I muttered.

“Believe me, it’ll fly by,” Kate interjected. 

“Between 8:15 and 9:45,” Penny continued, showing no signs of getting frustrated with all the interruptions, “most of the guests will arrive at the Cathedral. Friends you’ve invited, family from the States, all of the people you had to invite that you don’t actually know. Then at 9:50, the _distinguished_ guests will arrive – foreign dignitaries, prime ministers, the former president, et cetera.” 

I bit down on my thumbnail, trying to imagine President Obama and Michelle arriving at _my_ wedding. This only made my heart pound so fast that I could hear it. 

“Then, ten after ten, Harry and William will leave Clarence House, and arrive at the Cathedral five minutes after that. Five minutes after _that_ , the other foreign royals will arrive at the Cathedral.” 

Yup, imagining Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel and the several other royal couples who would be joining us was definitely making imy anxiety worse.

“At the same time that they’re arriving, your mum will leave the hotel. She’ll get to the Cathedral at 10:27.” 

The exact timing made my anxiety skyrocket. There was no time for anyone _anywhere_ to be even a minute late. I also felt a pang of sympathy for my mom. It was going to be horrifying for her to leave the hotel and arrive at St. Paul’s all alone, but what other choice did she have?

“Then, Harry’s more distant relatives will leave Buckingham at 10:25 and get there at 10:30. At 10:35, Prince Andrew and the Princesses of York, Prince Edward and the Countess of Wessex, and Princess Anne and Timothy Laurence will leave, and get there at 10:40. At 10:38,” she continued, and I was sure that I was just going to explode, “The Duchess of Cornwall will leave Clarence House, and get to the Cathedral at 10:42. Her Majesty and Prince Philip,” my stomach flopped, “will leave Buckingham at 10:40 and get there at 10:45. At 10:48, Kate, Grace, and the pageboys and flower girls leave Claridge’s, and they’ll get there at 10:55.” She sucked in a deep breath and sternly went on. “At _exactly_ 10:51, you and Prince Charles will leave the hotel for the Cathedral.” We’d be going on a route past literally thousands of people who were projected to be watching us. 

“Then we get to the real fun,” Penny told me. “The actual service is going to begin at eleven, so you’ll get to the Cathedral and you’ll be met by the Reverend and the Dean. You walk down the aisle, there’s the welcome and introduction, the vows, the ring exchange, some other stuff, and you’re married by noon.” 

My face heated up and I had to admit that when she said that, the butterflies in my stomach turned from nerves to excitement. “So then you have the carriage procession, and you get to Buckingham by half-past. The rest of the family and other guests get there at about 12:40. You have _exactly_ twenty-five minutes to take pictures before you have to appear on the balcony. That’s going to be you, Harry, the pageboys, the flower girls, Kate, Grace, William, your mum, Harry’s dad and Camilla, the Queen, and Prince Philip.”

“Then the balcony kiss!” Ava reminded me, and I blushed, looking forward to that part way more than I probably should have. 

“So then we’ve got the brunch reception, and you and Harry can go back to Kensington for a few hours.”

“And do what?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Pippa snickered.

“And then you’ll change and get ready to go _back_ to Buckingham for the dinner and reception, which will only be 300 instead of the 600 at the brunch.”

“Oh, great, only 300,” I rolled my eyes.

Pippa waved a hand. “Right, now for the fun night. The hen do!”

“I’m afraid B and I won’t be much fun,” Kate told me apologetically.

“What? No, I don’t want a hen party,” I insisted.

“Why not?” Bianca asked.

“Because! Did you just hear all that shit? I’m getting married in two weeks! I don’t have time for a hen party!”

“I had one,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have a royal wedding.”

“I had a royal wedding and a hen do,” Kate reminded me.

“Yeah, you were there,” Pippa added. A second afterwards, she frowned and remembered, “Wait a minute, no you weren’t. Why weren’t you there?”

“Harry and I were broken up at the time,” I reminded her.

Her frown deepening, she replied, “I thought you broke up after the wedding.”

“Yeah, that was the second time. The first time was before the wedding. Oh God. I’m marrying someone I’ve broken up with twice.”

Kate giggled. “Roxy, it’s fine.”

“I hope so!” Pippa laughed mercilessly.

“The point _is_ ,” her older sister continued with a light smack on the shoulder to Pippa, "you can have both.

“Maybe,” I partially agreed, “I just don’t want one.”

“Why not?” Bianca pouted. “It’ll be fun.”

“Because! I have my family coming in three days, and I still have to pick out a tiara _and_ my patronages, I have a final dress fitting, and a final rehearsal, and the rehearsal _dinner_ , and, apparently, a dress that needs to be let out!” Kate winced. “So no! No hen party!”

The girls were quiet and Ava uncharacteristically looked at Penny to take the lead. “You wanna take this one?”

Penny drew in a deep breath and gestured for me to do the same. “I don’t have time for breathing!” It took a second, but eventually Pippa stopped looking shocked and let out a loud cackle. Ava did, too, slowly, before Bianca started to laugh, and then, because they were laughing so hard, Kate and Penny did, too. Eventually, I realized the stupidity of that statement and burst into laughter as well. It felt pretty good – I was a little out of practice.

***

While I was on my way home, Harry called me, and I answered the Bluetooth. “Hey! You’ll never believe what Kate and B told me today.”

“Can we talk about that later?” he asked, sounding rushed.

“Um…okay. What’s up?”

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Dad, he wants to know what you’ve chosen as your patronages.”

I paused, pulling into the garage in my building. I disconnected the Bluetooth and got into the elevator. “I thought I didn’t have to announce my patronages until after the wedding.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to let them know beforehand so they can prepare a press statement and schedule visits.”

“I’m not really focused on scheduling anything past the wedding,” I told him, unlocking my front door. “I haven’t even _chosen_ my patronages yet.”

“I thought you had.”

“Well you thought wrong.”

Harry let out a weary sigh. “Come on, Fox, you’ve got to decide.”

“Yeah, I know that!” I snapped.

“I’m coming over and we’re going to sort this out.”

“Harry, I have other things to do, you know.” I had to decide which tiara to wear and let the Queen know, and I had to do it immediately. I’d taken so long that she’d actually given me a deadline, which was tomorrow. I also had to call my mom and Grace to make sure that their travel arrangements were all ready. Penny had assured me that she’d already checked, but I doubted that she'd reminded them of all of the things they'd need to bring with them (I was convinced that Eddie was going to forget something that Grace would overlook) to an annoying degree.

“We don’t have the time, Roxy!” he insisted. “You’ve got to pick them and you’ve got to pick them soon. People are getting here in three days, do you really want to spend time picking them out when our guests are arriving?”

“Why do I have to decide this right now?” I asked, tossing my keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter. A lot of the things in my apartment were packed up already, which hadn't taken long since I’d left a lot of the stuff for my mom, so she didn’t have to completely redecorate when she got here. My personal things, photographs, my clothes, some furniture and other sentimental things I couldn’t bear to part with were either gone already to Harry's KP apartment, or in boxes to be moved soon. It was eerily empty, and for some reason, even though I was looking forward to living in a literal palace, I felt a tug of sadness and nostalgia in my heart and stomach. “Kate didn’t do an event for one of her patronages until months after the wedding.”

“Right, and in the beginning people called her useless and lazy and accused her of having no personality and just following William around. If you want people to accuse you of following your husband around, then by all means, go right ahead being indecisive, just like you always are.”

For about six seconds, I wasn’t angry, because Harry had called himself my husband. That faded the more he snapped at me. “Oh, you mean just like I’m being indecisive about marrying you right now?”

“Exactly like that!” he angrily confirmed.

“Well since I’m so indecisive, I’m going to go _not_ pick out my patronages and _not_ pick out a tiara!” I shouted before hanging up on him. I stalked off into my bedroom, even though no one was around to see my dramatic exit. Harry called me a few times, but there was no _way_ I was talking to him right now. I had tiaras, and apparently patronages, to decide on.

Flopping down on my bed, I picked up some pictures that the Queen had given me of the tiaras she was willing to loan me for the wedding. There were only three options, and in my opinion, they were all beautiful. It was just that wearing them meant _so_ much, and I didn’t want to be accused of being gaudy or greedy, and I _didn’t_ want to look ridiculous. Most girls wanted to look like a princess on their wedding day, but I wanted to look like I was anything _but_. 

_It’s not normal_ , I thought, looking down at my options. It wasn’t normal, none of it. It wasn’t normal that I was this torn between headwear. It wasn’t normal that I was picking out which depressing organization to support. None of it was normal, and I didn’t mean just that I was marrying Harry and who he was and what he did and all that came with it. I’d given up the fact that I was going to have any sense of normalcy the second I stepped out for my first date with Harry. I was sure, though, that this wasn’t even normal for a royal wedding. Kate had always known exactly what she wanted, and I had spent the last several months feeling like I was _just_ managing to keep my head above water. 

_But you’re not Kate_ , the angel on my shoulder tried to remind me.

The devil took over. _But you’re going to spend the rest of your life being compared to her, so get used to it._ And, looking down at the beautiful, glittering diamond tiaras, one of which I’d be wearing in fourteen days, I completely dissovled into sobs.

Hearing my front door open, I sat up straight and tried to wipe away my tears. Why hadn’t the doorman buzzed up? Was he just letting people into my apartment now? What if it was a serial killer? I mean, I knew that it had to be Harry, B, Wills, Kate or Pippa, because the person was using a key, but still. I could be dead right now. Or I could be caught sobbing over pictures of tiaras. 

“Fox?” Harry called, his tone still full of frustration.

I had half a mind not to answer him and make him believe I wasn’t there so that he’d go away. Figuring that the silent treatment wasn’t the way to start a marriage, I answered, “I’m in here,” from my room, unable to hold back the hiccup from my voice. 

When he appeared in the doorway, he looked pretty pissed, but also adorable. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that was kind of tight, showing off his pecks and beautiful biceps. Plus, he hadn’t shaved in a couple days so he had some stubble on his chin and jaw line. He never looked that casual, but he did right now. As angry as I was, I couldn’t stop my heart from softening at the sight of him, and, when he recognized that I was crying, his expression immediately changed from frustration to concern. He turned around and I heard him open the fridge and poor me a glass of water before coming back to my room. “Fox,” he said sympathetically, sitting on the end of my bed and handing me the glass of water. “What’s wrong?”

Through the tears that had started falling again, I choked out, “I – don’t – want – to – tell – you.”

“Why not?”

“Because – you’ll – l-l-laugh – at me.”

The corners of his mouth were already turning up into an amused smirk. “I won’t laugh, I promise.” 

Taking a deep breath, I took a sip of water and then pushed the pictures over to Harry. “I can’t figure out which tiara to wear.”

My heart almost burst with so much love and appreciation for him as, trying desperately to keep his promise, Harry turned his face away from me. I heard him take a few deep, choking breaths in an attempt to compose himself and hold down his obvious laughter. When he turned back to me, he was all business. “Okay. Well…what about this one?” he asked, pointing to the Lover’s Knot tiara, choosing one at random in an attempt to help.  
I shook my head and sniffled, feeling the lump come back to my throat. “That’s my favorite one,” I admitted, stroking the picture lovingly.

Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulder and buried his face in my hair in what I assumed was a failed attempt to keep me from seeing that he was still laughing at me. “Then why don’t you wear that one?”

“Because, your mother wore it all the time, and I’m already doing the wedding at St. Paul’s, I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to be her,” I told him. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. It wasn’t mean, but I should have thought of a more tactful way to say it. 

“Roxanna, if you want to wear that tiara, wear it,” he encouraged me. “It’s _your_ day. Who cares what anyone else says?”

“ _I_ do,” I told him defiantly. “If it was _just_ the Cathedral, or _just_ the tiara, I wouldn’t care, but it’s too much, all of it together. And now everyone is going to say that Kate and Zara looked gorgeous and I look like a terrible old lady with no sense of fashion!” I crumbled into sobs once again.

“No one is going to say you look like an old lady.” Harry thought about something for a minute before he held up the photo of the Queen Mary fringe tiara, which sort of looked like the one Crown Princess Victoria had worn at the dinner. “What about this one? That’s what my Gran wore on her wedding day.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I _can’t_ wear it!”

He paused again, thinking hard. “But…isn’t that kind of your theme?”

Blinking down at the picture, I suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Of _course_ that was the tiara I should have been wearing! Why hadn’t I seen that before? Flinging my arms around Harry, I kissed him all over his face. “Harry Wales, you’re the smartest man alive and I love you and your brilliant mind!”

“Really?” he asked. “Because a few minutes ago you told me that you were unsure of actually marrying me.

Blushing, I gave him a kiss on the mouth. “Forget I said that. You’re a genius. Thank you for helping me.”

Harry smiled and kissed my temple. “I’ll help you with anything, as long as it keeps you from crying.” Then, he swiped the binder of pictures off my bed with one hand and it hit the floor with a thunk. “Now can we talk about something that’s even a little bit interesting?” He had, however, no intention of talking about anything, which I found out as he leaned forward and trailed kisses behind my ear and down my neck. 

“I thought I had to pick patronages,” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “We can do that tomorrow.” And with those five words, I was convinced.

***

The next morning, Harry and I were going over my patronages at my kitchen table, trying to finally pick some out. “How many does Kate have?” I asked.

“Nine,” he said. “I’ve got nine, too, but you don’t have to choose that many all at once.”

“Right,” I nodded, looking down at the spreadsheet I had compiled on my laptop. It listed the different patronages and the pros and cons of taking them on, and the level of which I cared about the issues they worked on. Taking a deep breath, I slowly told him, “Okay, I think I’ve narrowed it down to my favorites.”

“Lay ‘em on me, DeLaSearle.”

“Okay. First, I have the RBC and the English National Ballet.” I looked up at Harry for confirmation that this was a good idea. When he nodded, I bit down on my bottom lip before asking, “But don’t you think those are a little…fluffy?”

He thought about it for a minute before cautiously agreeing, “Yeah, a little. That’s okay though, as long as they’re not _all_ ‘fluffy,’” he made quotes in the air with his fingers. “What are your others?”

“I’ve got the National Centre for Eating Disorders,” I offered. I’d decided on it after my conversation with Princess Victoria, figuring that I should probably take her advice. She knew way more about this than I did, after all.

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Good choice.”

“And then I’ve got the Royal Foundation and Sentebale, which are kind of givens.” I pretty much had to join the Royal Foundation. It was currently called the Royal Foundation of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Prince Harry. In a few short days, however, that would change.

Harry paused before telling me, “You don’t have to join Sentebale, if you don’t want to.”

Giving him a look of disbelief, I waved a hand. “Are you kidding? That was the _first_ one I picked. It’s an easy choice. Besides, I want to. And then I’ve got the Priory Group, and PROMIS Rehabilitation Clinic. They’re both rehab centers.”

“Well that makes sense,” he agreed, clapping his hands together. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“It was _extremely_ hard,” I corrected him. I felt guilty about not having anything like children’s hospices on there, like Kate did, or anything for the homeless, like William, nothing green, like Princess Victoria, or having to do with international conflict, like Mary, the Crown Princess of Denmark.

When I told Harry this, he reminded me, “You can always have more, Fox." Then, with a smirk, he added, "This is only the beginning," and I felt the thrill down to my toes.


	130. He's All Yours Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Lover's Eyes" by Mumford & Sons
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Holy. Crap,” I blew out a breath as my newly appointed RPO, Isabel, opened the car doors for Charles and I in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was here. It was real. I was getting married tomorrow. The next time I set foot on this exact spot, I’d be on my way to becoming the Duchess of Sussex…probably. Charles came around to my side and held his hand out for me, breaking me out of my thoughts. “And of course you’ll have a train centuries long,” he assured me.

Grace laughed from where she’d been waiting outside. We were doing a complete run through, with practiced transportation. She had arrived with half of the pageboys and flower girls. Kate was taking the other half, including Georgie, and had already arrived as well. “It’s not that bad, I promise,” Grace told him, as she pretended to straighten it out behind me.

The Reverend nodded at us. “How are you feeling, Roxanna?” he asked with a kind smile. “Any nerves?”

“Oh, just a few,” I sarcastically waved a hand.

He chuckled before reminding me of what happened next. “So you’ll get out of the car here, and you can pause for a moment and give a wave to the public.” I waved, and a few people who were spying on the street called over to me. I laughed and waved more enthusiastically at them.

“We’ll have to work on the wave,” Charles chuckled.

“Oh, sorry,” I bit my lip.

“And then we’ll greet you here,” the Reverend told me, leading me up the steps to the front of the Cathedral where he and the Dean would greet us on the day of our wedding.  
As I looked down the aisle that suddenly seemed impossibly long, Charles linked our arms. “Slowly now Roxanna."

_Well love was kind_  
_for a time._  
_Now just aches,_  
_and it makes me blind._

“Can you find the words to sum up how you feel about the engagement?”

“Difficult to find that sort of word, isn’t it, really? Just delighted and happy. I’m amazed that she’d been brave enough to take me on.”

“And, I suppose, in love?”

“Of course!”

“Whatever ‘in love’ means.”

_This mirror holds_  
_My eyes too bright._  
_I can’t see the others_  
_In my life._

“Did you try to be faithful and honorable in your marriage?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“And you were?”

“Yes…until it became irretrievably broken down, us both having tried.”

_Were we too young?_  
_Our heads to strong?_  
_To bear the weight of_  
_these lovers eyes._

“Were you unfaithful?”

“Yes. I adored him. Yes. I was in love with him.”

“Do you think Mrs. Parker Bowles was a factor in the breakdown of your marriage?”

“Well…there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded.”

_‘Cause I feel numb_  
_beneath your tongue,_  
_beneath the curse of_  
_these lover’s eyes._

“We’re interrupting programs to tell you that Diana, Princess of Wales, is gravely ill, in intensive care, in Paris’s Salpetriere Hospital, after being seriously injured in a car crash, which killed her friend, Dodi Fayed. It’s thought the princess is gravely ill, unconfirmed reports suggest she has concussion, severe cuts and broken bones. French police say the couple were apparently being pursued by paparazzi on motorbikes, when the crash happened in this tunnel, a little bit shortly after midnight. Buckingham Palace said the Prince of Wales had been telephoned at Balmoral to be told of the news. The Prime Minister, Tony Blair, has also been informed of this and said he was ‘shocked and saddened by the devastating and appalling tragedy.’”

_But do not ask the price I paid._  
_I must live with my quiet rage._  
_Tame the ghosts in my head_  
_that run wild and wish me dead._

“It has just been confirmed that Diana, Princess of Wales, has died, following a car crash at midnight in Paris. The Foreign Secretary said, ‘I’m greatly shocked by this news. Our first thoughts must be with her children.'”

_Should you shake my ash to the wind,_  
_Lord, forget all of my sins_  
_and let me die where I lie,_  
_‘neath the curse of my lover’s eyes._

“And it appears that, following the cortege, are the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince of Wales, Earl Spencer, Prince William and Prince Harry. On top of the standard you can see the three wreathes of white lilies left by her brother, Earl Spencer, and her two sons. We have been told that Prince Harry has left a card on one of the wreaths, it says, ‘Mummy,’ but what is in that card will remain a closely guarded secret between Harry and his mother.”

_‘Cause there’s no drink_  
_or drug I’ve tried_

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in Kensington.”

“Good. Who’s with you?”

“My brother, Kate, and Roxy. And…you.”

“Good. And who am I?”

“A doctor. From America.”

“And what do I do?”

“You help people like me.”

“And do you want my help?”

_to rid the curse of_  
_these lover’s eyes._

“Yes. God, yes.”

_‘Cause I feel numb_  
_beneath your tongue._  
_Your strength just makes me_  
_feel less strong._

“I’ve always loved you. There’s…there’s no one else for me, Fox.”

_But do not ask the price I paid._

“I’m going to be deployed with the rest of the guys in my regiment.”

_I must live with my quiet rage._

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

_Tame the ghosts in my head_

“Roxy. Roxanna. Wake up my darling.”

_that run wild and wish me dead._

“H…Harry?”

_Should you shake my ash to the wind,_  
_Lord, forget all of my sins._  
_Oh let me die where I lie,_  
_‘neath the curse of my lover’s eyes._

And then…then there had been all of these other moments. Not the ones where there had been drama and passion and tears, but the ones that had been simple, and easy. The ones in the Surrey house when Harry made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe. The moments where I’d be drinking tea and look up to see him staring at me, looking completely happy and content, just because we were in the same room together. The moments where I’d curl up into him and watch the new Downton Abbey. The times when he’d teach me things I never knew before. The time he’d kissed me on the trip to Boots – times when we hadn’t been Roxanna DeLaSearle and Prince Harry. Times when we’d just been two people who happened to have an exceptional amount of fun together and who had fallen in love.

_I’ll walk slow. I’ll walk slow._  
_Take my hand, help me on my way._  
_I’ll walk slow. I’ll walk slow._  
_Take my hand, I’ll be on my way._

We were close to the front of the aisle now. At the begnning, we'd been so far away that I couldn’t even see Harry, and tomorrow the Cathedral would be packed full of guests. He had just started to come into view when something…sort of strange happened.  
All of a sudden, I got a waft of this scent. It was rose and jasmine, some sort of perfume I’d never smelled before. The scent got so heavy that I looked to Charles to see if he smelled anything, but if he did, he wasn’t giving any indication. I took another deep inhale of the scent, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but I just couldn’t. Quietly, I started to panic. Wasn’t that sometimes a sign that you had a brain tumor…or something?  
Things got weirder then, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. It sort of felt like… like someone was wrapping a warm blanket around my shoulders, and at the same time it sort of felt like a hug, and someone rubbing my back in slow, calming circles. I looked around wildly, the hair on the back of my neck standing up and my arms breaking out into goosebumps. It felt like there was someone else around, there had to be, but at the same time, I knew that it was very clearly just Charles and I.

_**So you’re finally doing it. Took you long enough. I have to admit, I hoped you’d do it sooner.**_

I was losing it. I was definitely just going completely insane, because I was literally hearing voices in my head. It was because of stress, or my lack of sleep, or both, but I was officially, totally crazy. And that voice I was hearing…well, it sounded a lot like…

_**Take care of my boy, Roxanna.**_

Harry looked over his shoulder at me, something that would be a big no-no tomorrow. He was smirking, as usual, that smirk that made him look just so much like his mother. Instead of the feeling of tugging at my heart, the way I usually felt when I saw that smile, I actually felt…good. I felt calm, and suddenly at peace. I was connected to everyone in this room; I loved Harry, and through that, I was connected to everyone he loved, and several of those people were in this room with us right now. My dress didn’t matter, my make up, hair, tiara, none of it mattered. The generous, kind, gorgeous, loving, funny man standing a few feet in front of me mattered. And that was really it.

_**He’s all yours now.**_

_I’ll walk slow. I’ll walk slow._  
_Take my hand, help me on my way._

Harry took my hand, and I looked up into his deep blue eyes, and for the rest of my life I never had to question who was there with us that day.

_I’ll walk slow. I’ll walk slow._  
_Take my hand, I’ll be on my way._


	131. She Was Pretty, That Roxy Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“His Royal Highness Prince Harry of Wales and Miss Roxanna DeLaSearle,” the man in red announced as Harry and I walked down the stairs to the dining room at St. James’s Palace. It wasn’t a place we used a lot, but Clarence House wasn’t as formal as St. James’s, and the Kensington and Buckingham staff were getting ready for tomorrow. We’d done a complete run through of the vows and a quick version of the procession back to Buckingham before being told sternly by Penny that we had _exactly_ two hours to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

“I won’t be sad to stop being referred to as ‘miss’,” I admitted as I, very carefully, made my way down the stairs and to the table. I still wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t having a complete mental break down, not after what had happened in the Cathedral. I’d made a mental note to ask Kate about it later and was trying to figure out a way to do that, that _wouldn’t_ make me sound like I was bat shit crazy. For now, though, I wanted to put it out of my mind and get through the dinner. “It always sounds so lame next to your HRH.”

“Soon enough, Fox, soon enough,” Harry assured me, waving down the table to our guests. I did as well and we took our seats. My mom was next to Charles and Camilla, who were across the way from Will and Kate, with Grace and Ray on their side. Piers and Bianca were entertaining them with some story or other, while Pippa chatted with Prince Edward and Sophie, and the Tindalls and Phillipses discussed the possibility of a post-wedding play date. At a separate table for the kids, Georgie colored a picture of a fire truck, and my heart softened as I saw that Eddie was talking to Harry’s cousins Louise and James, who were also in the wedding, along with Georgie, Savannah and Isla Phillips, and Mia, the daughter that Harry’s cousin Zara had had shortly after Georgie was born. 

“I wish it could always be like this,” I told Kate.

“Be like what?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Everyone I love in one room.”

She squeezed my arm sympathetically. “You’ll miss Grace when she goes back,” she assessed. My mom wasn’t going back, because she’d officially made the move into my apartment. Forever. (Even though it was too big, and she didn’t need all that space, and the rent was outrageous, and what had I needed such a big closet for anyway?)

Surprisingly enough, I confirmed this. “I will. Which is strange. Grace and I haven’t gotten along this well since…ever, but we are now.” Kate tilted her head back and laughed. “What?”

“Well it’s obvious why, isn’t it?” Kate asked. When I shook my head she leaned in closer to me and in a low voice she said, “You won. You’re marrying a prince.”

I giggled as the men in red served dessert. It was Harry’s favorite sticky toffee pudding, which I’d been trying desperately to attempt to replicate. It wasn’t going very well. We thanked them as they poured more wine. When we were done, Harry pushed his plate away and patted his stomach. “Will you still love me when I’m the size of the Hindenburg?” he asked.

“Until you die from a helium explosion,” I promised, pressing my forehead to his. We were giggling when Kate stood up and clinked her knife against her glass. Surprised, I looked up at her. “What are you doing?”

She smirked at me and the room quieted down. “I know it’s customary for the best man and maid of honor to give toasts at the reception, but I had something to say as well. And I don’t think Grace will have want of an audience tomorrow night,” she winked at my sister. I turned to Harry, who shrugged. “I remember the first time I met Roxy. She was eighteen, and so adorable, and she said, ‘The tabloids wrote an article about how I can’t dress as well as you.’” The room chuckled good-naturedly and I blushed, remembering our first encounter almost ten years ago. “So William and I were surprised and asked, ‘Who would read that?’ and she goes, ‘Um…I read it.’” The room laughed again and I rolled my eyes. Of course it had to be something embarrassing. “You were adorable, Roxy, and so, so young, and on my wedding day I felt that I had so much to teach you, and I just absolutely hoped that you could learn all you had to.” She paused, blinking back tears. “Well, you have learned. Over the past ten years you have grown and blossomed into such a graceful, elegant woman, and I’m so proud to have known you and been your friend through all of that, all of the ups and downs of your life with Harry. And I’ll be so honored tomorrow when I can finally call you family.”

I choked back my tears and tried, but mostly failed, to blink them away. Harry squeezed my thigh and everyone clapped as Kate raised her glass. “To Roxanna and Harry.” Everyone else toasted us, and then Piers got up. Since I’d added Kate into the mix of bridesmaids, Piers had been added, too, to be there to walk with her. So now, weirdly, the line up was Grace and William followed by and Kate and Piers.

“Right, Kate’s a tough act to follow but here goes.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a piece of paper on which he had apparently written his toast. “I was actually with Harry the first time he met Roxy, and…it was… _peculiar_ ,” he slowly assessed. The group laughed and Piers went on. “First of all, she’d spilled her drink all over him, and then was apparently fearful that he’d have her beheaded, but Harry was very kind and said that we don’t really behead people anymore,” he quoted our conversation nearly word for word. How did he remember all of that? “Which I’m sure Roxy was greatly comforted by. So we got to talking and chatted for a bit before moving on to the next place. Well, I’ve known Harry for a while now, so I’m pretty good at picking up on his mood, and when we left the club he was very quiet. As you all well know, Harry is not a quiet man. So we got out of the car to go into the next place and Harry goes, ‘She was pretty, that Roxy girl,’ and I said, ‘Yeah, she was pretty,’ and didn’t think of it, and then we went to the other club, had a couple drinks, and Harry says, ‘I think I’m going to ask her out.’ So, naturally, I had to ask if she indicated that she also wanted to go out with him to which Harry replied that she had not in any way done so." The group laughed and I looked to Harry, surprised. I'd been a stammering, blushing mess that night, and he was Prince Harry! Who wouldn't have wanted to go out with him? "Then he said, ‘But I don't have her number or anything. If I go to RBA, do you think that’s weird?’ And I said,” Piers paused, “I said, ‘Why yes, Harry, I think that would be very, very weird’.” The group laughed again and I wiped at my eyes, thinking about that conversation in a crowded nightclub. “So a couple of days go by and Harry calls me up and says, ‘Right, this is what I’m going to do – I’m going to go to her school and ask her if she wants to go out,’ and I said, ‘Harry, you’re stalking this girl, I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ and he said he was going to do it anyway. So a couple of weeks go by and of course at this point I know he’s actually gone and done it, and he calls me up after the fact and says, ‘Yeah, I waited for her to come back to her room after class and asked her out,’ and I asked, ‘Well…was it weird?’ And Harry was silent for a moment and he finally said, ‘Yeah, it was weird, she did not like it’.” The crowd roared with laughter and Piers winked at us. Once we’d quieted down, he continued. “But honestly Harry, you’re very lucky to have found her. I knew from the moment they met that Roxy would be the kind to test Harry, to not let him get away with anything, and she did exactly that. Which Harry apparently enjoyed.” We chuckled again and Piers went on. “Roxanna, you are beautiful, smart, hilarious, graceful, generous, patient, kind, and a brilliant best friend. And Harry is all of those things, too. Slightly less beautiful, of course. When the two of you are around each other, you draw those traits out in one another. You literally make each other better people, and I’ve never been happier for anyone. Rox, Haz, I love you. To them,” he raised his glass. The table repeated, “To them,” and toasted us.

In about an hour, Penny came over to us at the table told us that the bridal party would have to go over to Claridge’s. “There’s a huge crowd outside,” she warned us. “You’ll stop to talk to the manager outside, let her take some pictures.”

“All right,” I yawned. “Can we have a minute?” 

“Of course,” she nodded, and left the room, barking orders into her bluetooth. Grace, Kate, my mother, and I got up to say good-bye to the others. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bianca hugged me tightly. “Call me if you can’t sleep.”

“I will,” I promised her, and turned to Pippa. “You don’t feel left out?” I asked.

She shook her head. “This is your day, Rox. Call me if Bianca doesn’t feel like dealing with your neurosis at three in the morning,” she joked. I promised I would and then turned to Kate and Grace. “Let me just say goodbye to my fiancé and we'll go.” I tapped Harry on the shoulder and beckoned for him to follow me out into the hall. 

He did and placed a hand on my hip. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath, I answered, “I think so. You?”

“I’ve been ready for it since the day I met you,” he promised. “I’ll miss you tonight.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” I admitted. “Now give me the last kiss before you make an honest woman out of me,” I instructed him.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Harry wrapped me in his arms and dipped me, planting a strong kiss on my mouth like an old Hollywood movie. I laughed when he pulled away. 

When I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to hide my grin, Harry asked, “What?”

Slowly, I shook my head and swallowed the lump in my throat. “That was my last kiss as Roxy DeLaSearle.”

Harry just grinned back at me, just as dorky as I looked. We were giddily giggling when Penny called, “Roxy! Come on!”

I squeezed Harry’s hands. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He beamed back at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Walking down the aisle.”


	132. Roxy DeLaSearle's Last Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Once I’d said good-bye to Harry, Grace, my mom, Kate and I piled into the car and chatted excitedly as we drove back to Claridges. I could feel the nervous energy buzzing off of all of us, and for the first time since I’d gotten that peaceful feeling in the Cathedral, my stomach clenched up. When we got to the hotel I stood outside, talking to the manager and waving to the people who had lined up outside to catch a glimpse of me. There were people already camped out all over London, along the route that I would take from the hotel to St. Paul’s. It was touching to see, really, but daunting as well. What if they hated my dress? What if I didn’t wave enough? It was a long way to keep a smile on my face…

When we made our way up to the room, I turned to Kate. “I need a cigarette,” I told her.

“Roxanna Nicole,” my mom scolded. 

“Mom, I’m twenty-seven. Get over it,” I told her. Grace also shook her head in disapproval as she handed over the silver and white pack of Marlboros. She’d protested when I’d asked her to buy them for me, but I’d reminded her that as my maid of honor, it was her job to make sure I had an emergency pack, since I was going to be incredibly stressed out. 

After Kate and I had stepped onto the balcony, I let up and took an inhale. “It’s just hit you, hasn’t it?” she asked, waving my smoke out of her face. It was probably really irresponsible of me to be smoking around her at all, now that she was knocked up again, but I needed to talk to her about…the thing.

“Yes,” I replied, inhaling sharply. “I can’t believe all these people are going to be watching me.”

“You’ve had audiences before,” Kate reminded me.

I scoffed. “To watch me pirouette, not to watch me commit to someone for the rest of my life.” I sighed out a stream of smoke. My stomach clenched tighter and I took a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to say this without convincing Kate that I had completely lost it. “Kate…this is going to sound…insane, but…I could have _sworn_ that…when I was walking down the aisle today…well, I could have _sworn_ I heard…it almost sounded like…”

I noticed that Kate’s lips were quivering as the corners of them lifted into a smile. “He’s all yours now?” 

When I nodded, we both sniffled and wiped away the tears that had started rolling down our cheeks. “She was there, wasn’t she?”

Kate nodded before adding, “She’s always there.” And she was right. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt Princess Diana’s presence. When Harry and I had finally gotten back together, for the last time, after we’d decided that it would be for good, we’d been watching Elton John sing “Tiny Dancer” at the Concert for Diana. When I’d looked up at him, I’d suddenly gotten some sort of…daydream. While we were broken up, Pippa had told me this ancient myth that, when two people were meant to be, they had threads tied around their fingers, and sometimes the thread would get tangled or caught up on something, but it would never break. That night, I’d gotten this sort of dreamlike memory of Harry’s mother, soft and ethereal, gently tying a thread around my finger, and then tying the other end around Harry’s. I’d always kind of assumed it was just some weird delusion I’d made up in my head to feel better about the whole situation, and to reassure myself that I was making the right choice, but now, after today, after what Kate had just said, I knew that it was something more than that…or Kate and I were both crazy.

I stubbed out my cigarette and we headed back into the suite (aptly named the Royal Suite). Grace and my mom had turned the TV on and I heard someone saying my name. When I looked over, it was some ITV special on me and Harry, which still blew my mind, the idea that someone would want to make a special about me. William and Kate had gotten their own _Lifetime_ movie, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when the network announced that they were doing one for me and Harry, too. It had still come as a shock, but Harry had pointed out that we had more than enough drama for one movie. They’d actually broken it up into a miniseries…which was a little embarrassing. 

This wasn’t the TV show though, it was some sort of documentary-like program. “I think Roxy and Harry probably had more in common than they thought at first,” Katie Nicholl (professional journalist and professional pain in my ass) was telling the viewers. “They both came from these explosive, volatile marriages, they both had overachieving older siblings, they’d both lost a parent. So I think, on that very public first date around London, they probably realized that they shared a bit more than anyone would assume a girl from New Jersey and a prince would share.”

On the screen there was footage of Harry and I at a polo match, shortly after the date around London. Another man who apparently knew Harry and I better than we thought (I had certainly never met or even laid eyes on the man before), was speaking now. “We started seeing her pop up everywhere at polo matches, football games, outings with the Duchess of Cambridge who was then, of course, still Kate Middleton. She created this niche of people, who were also all close to Harry, which unfortunately probably made things pretty hard when they decided to call it off.”

Another “royal correspondent” (whatever that meant) came on the screen, after a series of pictures of me and Harry, or me and Kate, or the both of us with Pippa and B. There was even one of my shopping for a dress to wear to the wedding with Kate and her mom. “I think at first they sort of both dove into the relationship and it got very intense very quickly, which maybe wasn’t a good thing.”

I was rolling my eyes when all of a sudden, two girls I actually did know appeared on screen. They were Jamie Eggert and Sarah Dawes, who had been in my year at school. “Oh my God!” I shrieked. “Those bitches!”

My phone rang at exactly that second, and I knew it was Bianca without even looking. “Are you watching this?” she shouted.

“Yes! I can’t believe them!”

“I can,” she scoffed, and we watched the special together, over the phone.

Once they started talking, I actually didn’t mind it that much. “We knew they were dating, ‘cuz you see things in the press,” Jamie shrugged, “but we didn’t ever say nothing to her. Madam was kinda hard on her, I don’t think she wanted her to lose sight of her goals as a dancer.”

“She never did, though,” Sarah spoke up. “You could always tell she was working really hard so that she didn’t get less focused on school.” Then, giggling, she added, “I think we secretly all wanted her to get more into the relationship so the competition would be lowered, ‘cuz she set the bar quite high.”

Well…that was kind of nice actually. Also, this was all stuff that I had absolutely _never_ heard before. I’d certainly read my own press before, even though the royals were constantly advising me not to, but it was news to me that all of Britain had suspected that my relationship with Harry had unhealthy beginnings. Except Jamie Eggert and Sarah Dawes, apparently.

“When Roxanna got to London, Prince Harry was out being very much the Party Prince a lot of the time, and although they met in a nightclub, you didn’t really see much of that with them afterwards, at least not until after the wedding,” a blonde woman, who had allegedly once worked at Boujis, was saying.  
“After the wedding,” Katie Nicholl broke in, “we started seeing them out a lot more, with Harry’s friends, Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie, these other young, glamorous people, which we hadn’t seen from them before. Compared to William and Catherine’s younger years, they were relatively tame, but it was sort of the first time anyone had seen Roxy doing anything that called into question her commitment to her schooling.”

Jamie Eggert came back on then. “She hadn’t ever gotten worse or distracted from her dancing, but after the wedding she was going out a lot more, which everyone at school knew because of the tabloids. And her dancing did start to suffer after that.” 

I held my breath, waiting for Sarah to drop the bomb and tell the story about me falling flat on my face…but she didn’t. The screen went back to the first man, who correctly, hypothesized, “I think she finally had to take a step back and look at what she really wanted, and she’d been working on this her whole life, to be a ballerina, and that was seriously being called into question. So I think she, very sensibly, decided to break things off.”

There was a promo for what was about to come next and then it switched to commercials. Bianca sighed. “Well, at least they didn’t tell the story about the fall.”

“Oh, yeah, at least they sold me out just a little,” I rolled my eyes.

“Why don’t you just turn it off?” Kate asked. “What does it matter?”

I didn’t want to admit that, even though I was kind of a key player in all this, I also kind of found it interesting. The commercials ended and, weirdly, there was a series of pictures of Kate leaving nightclubs or with her dragon boat team, during the time she and William were broken up. Frowning, I looked at her and she shrugged, clearly confused as well. One of the royal reporters explained, “When Prince William and Kate broke up, she sort of famously now went out and had the attitude of, ‘His loss, I’ll show him what he’s been missing.’ Roxy DeLaSearle was never the kind of girl who was going to do that.”

Jamie and Sarah came back on. “After they broke up, we noticed that she started spending more time in the studio and on campus, practicing and trying to get back to a good place with our instructors.”

The guy correspondent appeared again. “She was lucky, because she had the built-in fortress of being at the Royal Ballet Academy, which literally has gates around it, and it helped her, I think, to be protected so she could get over the break up out of the public eye and get back to focusing on her dancing.”

“For as much as Roxy sort of retreated into school and from the press,” Katie Nicholl continued, “Harry was going out to a different club every night with his friends, picking up girls, stumbling out of these places, clearly intoxicated, and I think we all sort of felt a bit bad for him, because it was clear that he was self-medicating. Of course,” she added, “none of us in the press knew how bad it actually was, and it wasn’t for another year or so until we _did_ realize what was happening.” What was happening was that Harry was falling further and further into his severe drug addiction. 

The screen switched from Katie Nicholl to footage of me, covering my face, and leaving the apartment I used to share with Bianca, came on the screen. “Aw, our old apartment,” Bianca fondly remembered.

“So, Roxy sort of goes through the summer and starts her next year at school, we see her out with her friends, including the Duchess of Cambridge and Pippa Middleton, still maintaining those friendships, which was nice. She also started dating someone else,” a different “journalist” reminded us, and I cringed. 

“I don’t think she thought it was going to be as big of a deal as it was,” said one correspondent. “I think she sort of expected to fade back into oblivion, and she learned, quite quickly, that that wasn’t how it worked,” he chuckled. 

Jamie and Sarah came on the screen again, and they were both giggling. “Things were totally back to normal and then one day we’re told that Prince Harry and Prince William was coming to class to have another Princess Diana concert.”

Sarah nodded and smirked, adding, “He walked in and we all instantly looked at her, she was the only one _not_ reacting, she just stood there, but you could _feel_ the awkwardness in the room.”

“They were both really professional about it though,” Jamie followed up. “You’d see them in rehearsals and Harry and William would be watching and it didn’t seem to bother Roxy at all. She always stayed focused.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” I muttered.

“Me, either,” B answered. “Although, I was kind of preoccupied at the time.” This was during the time when her eating disorder had started to get pretty bad.

“I don’t think it’s any coincidence,” Katie Nicholl popped up again, “that around the time Harry started spending more time at the Academy was around the time the press started coming out with stories about Roxanna’s new boyfriend, which were quite negative.”

“It was kind of like watching your favorite sitcom,” the blonde woman from Boujis elaborated with a giggle. “Where you sort of just wanted to push them together so they’d have their happy ending.”

“You could tell in practice and stuff that there was something between them still,” Jamie acknowledged. 

Sarah agreed. “They’d be talking in practice, and he’d give her a note, and she’d just know what he was talking about, he didn’t even really have to say anything. He’d be like, ‘You know when,’ and she’d be like, ‘Yeah, that needs work,’ and they just had this connection, I think it was pretty obvious.”

I was starting to hate the guy who was speaking less and less. I had no idea who I was, but he’d been 100% correct about everything thus far, and I didn’t know how that was possible. “They didn’t break up before because they didn’t still have feelings for each other, so I think that, after they’d spent more time around each other, they sort of realized that they wanted to get back together.”

“At the first Concert for Diana, you saw William and Catherine getting back together and they were singing along to ‘Back for Good,’ and when those pictures of Roxy and Harry at the second Concert for Diana came out, that was their, ‘Back for Good,’ moment,” Kate Nicholl smirked, probably smug about the fact that she was right.

Kate tilted her head back and laughed as footage appeared of she and William swaying to possibly the worst love song ever written, before a picture of Harry and I at the concert flashed on screen.

“But it wouldn’t all be smooth sailing for Harry and Roxy,” a narrator told us. There was another commercial break before the different reporters summarized Harry’s deployment and my last year at school. They were actually quite sympathetic about all of it, which would have been awesome…if it hadn’t occurred seven years after the fact. At the time they’d mercilessly reported on how I was being a bitch for no apparent reason to all of the underclassmen. 

A man appeared on screen then that I’d never seen before. He’d been speaking for about six seconds before I hated him with a fiery passion. “I’ll never forget the day we found out about Harry’s addiction. I’d gotten a couple of pictures of Harry’s private secretary with this man, and we’d been working day and night to try and identify him. It took quite a bit of time because he was American, no one in the public knew him. Eventually we got it confirmed that he was the director of a rehabilitation clinic, and I think everything sort of clicked for us then. And I called St. James’s Palace before I even called my editor to warn them that we had identified this doctor and that we were going to go public with the story, because I wanted to give them as much time as possible to respond with however they wanted to deal with it.”

“What a fucking ass hole,” I muttered. “If he wanted us to deal with it then why did he just _have_ to run with the story?”

“After they gave the interview,” the man who was right about everything continued, after they played some clips of the interview Harry and I had sat for to break the news of his addiction two steps ahead of the tabloids, “and after we heard him say that she’d played an integral part in saving his life, really, I think that any doubt about the longevity of the relationship was completely gone, and after that we all were just sort of playing the waiting game on when he was going to propose.”

There was more footage of our engagement interview, and then footage of Harry and I getting out of the car for our first tour through St. Paul’s. “I think we can expect the wedding to be very much a tribute to his mother,” Katie Nicholl assumed. “Having it at St. Paul’s Cathedral, which is where Diana married Prince Charles, is a way to keep her close to the whole thing.”

Jamie and Sarah appeared again. “I don’t think any of us thought ten years ago in first year that they’d be here now.”

“Harry’s role in life,” the man who knew everything said, “is to be there to support his older brother, and I can’t think of anyone better suited to help him do that than Roxanna DeLaSearle." Kate let out an, "Aw," and gave my knee a squeeze. "She instantly cliqued with the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, they’re constantly together, they all get on wonderfully, and I think that we’re all just glad to finally be seeing them get their happily ever after.”

The program ended, the credits rolled, and I burst into tears. Bianca laughed, but I could tell that she was crying, too, and my mom ran her fingers through my hair even though she was sniffling. When we had all calmed down, I said good-bye to B and Kate asked, “Do you think you’ll need a Xanax to sleep tonight?”

Laughing, I corrected her. “I’d need an elephant tranquilizer to sleep tonight.” I turned to my mom and Grace, who were looking at make up pallets for tomorrow. “I’m going to bed,” I told them. “Well, I’m going to try anyway.”

“Night Rox,” Grace called over her shoulder.

My mom stood up and hugged me. “I’m not going to cry again,” she said. “I have to save some tears for tomorrow.”

“Please don’t,” I begged her. “Just try and remember that tomorrow you’ll have thousands of cameras on you.” I turned around and went to my bedroom suite. Not sure what to do with myself, I showered and wrapped myself up in a fluffy robe before flopping down on the bed. Again, I looked down at the ring on my hand. Down the hall, I heard my mom, Kate and Grace laughing about something. They seemed like they were getting along, which should have calmed be down…but I was pretty certain that _nothing_ was going to calm me down at the moment. After chewing on my lip and thinking about whether or not I really wanted to do it, I picked up the phone and dialed Harry’s room at Clarence House. “I was wondering when you’d call,” he answered.

I smiled. “How did you know?”

“Fox, I’ve known you for ten years. I know you,” he assured me. “So what’s wrong? Wedding night nerves?” he asked.

“I guess,” I admitted. “You’re not nervous?”

He paused. “A little.”

“A little?” I cried out. “You were supposed to tell me that you were absolutely sure about all this!”

Harry chuckled. “I _am_ ,” he told me. “I’m just also a little nervous. Aren’t you absolutely sure about all this?”

I thought about my answer. “I’m sure that I want to marry you,” I told him. “I’m just not sure how thrilled I am that everyone is going to be watching. Forever. For the rest of time. You know how clumsy I can be.”

He chuckled again. “Well unless you fall flat on your face while you’re walking down the aisle, I’m sure you’ll be fine. How are Grace and your mum handling it all?”

“Surprisingly well,” I admitted. 

“I told you they’d be fine,” he reminded me, which was true. 

Suddenly, the tidal wave of exhaustion crashed. Wrapping the comforter tighter around me, I told him, “I miss you.”

“Well soon we’ll be on our honeymoon, just the two of us,” he promised. I didn’t bother to ask him where we were going. He’d arranged the entire trip himself and was keeping it a secret to surprise me with after the wedding. “I love you Roxanna.”

“I love you, too.”

“I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow.”

I giggled. “Me, either. I wish I could wear my wedding dress all the time.”

“A bit inappropriate for every day wear, I think,” Harry let me down easy.

I giggled again and we said goodbye. I hung up and tossed and turned, checking the clock every couple of hours. At two in the morning, long after the others had gone to bed, I finally ventured out into the hotel room and opened the refrigerator. There was a grapefruit, a carton of eggs, some bread, and champagne for tomorrow morning. I closed it, realizing that I wasn’t really hungry anyway. I took the pack of cigarettes from the counter top and went out on the porch. The entire floor had been rented out for me, so that I didn't have to worry about anyone trying to get a peek of the preparations and dress. Ava was staying on the next floor down, but no one else was on _this_ floor of the hotel. From several floors below, I could hear a few young people having a party. I listened closely as one of them shouted out, “God bless the Queen! God bless the monarchy!” I smiled and considered shouting back a thank you, but decided not to. From their party, they started a rousing chorus of "God Save the Queen" and I giggled, lighting a cigarette.  
I was starting to feel lonely when the sliding door opened and Grace stepped out. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

I nodded. “You?”

She shrugged. “I’m a doctor. I can fall asleep anywhere. But I heard you come out of your room.” She moved closer to me and brushed away some of my stray black strands. “Do you remember watching Mom’s old tape of Diana’s wedding, and dressing up in sheets and pillow cases and pretending we were her?”

“Yeah,” I smiled at the memory of Grace and I walking down the hallway, clad in bed sheets. 

Grace paused. “This must be so hard for Harry. Getting married without her.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, remembering what Kate had just told me. It was too private of a detail to share with Grace. Plus, she'd probably just assume that Kate and I were both nuts. “I guess I’ve been trying not to think about it,” I confessed. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have enough reasons to be nervous as it is.”

“That’s true,” Grace agreed. “We’ve always been different,” she started, and I narrowed my eyes at her, curious as to where she was going with this. “You never worried about what other people thought about you. You’ve never cared about being the center of attention. You’ve always been braver than me. Remember that time I was too shy to order at McDonald's and Mom tried to make me but I cried so you ordered for me?” I laughed at the memory which, until now, I'd forgotten. With a sigh, Grace admitted, "I guess I haven't liked having to share you being brave for someone else."

Pushing out a smile at her, I suddenly got incredibly sad that she’d be leaving so soon after the wedding. She was staying through my honeymoon so we could have some time with my mom after everything had calmed down a bit, but eventually she’d go back, which was a shame because I really thought she’d fit in well with me, Bianca, Pippa, and Kate during our Spice Girls sing alongs. We were short a spice, after all. 

I hugged her and, when she hugged me back, I could hear her sniffling. Finally, she pulled away and urged, “You should really try to get some sleep. It is your last night as Roxy DeLaSearle.” I couldn’t stop the huge smile from spreading over my face. Nodding, I made my way back inside the hotel room. Just before I shut the door, Grace asked, “Are they singing 'God Save The Queen?'”


	133. Her Royal Highness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

I tossed and turned for a while before finally mamanging to fall into a light sleep. It seemed like I had just shut my eyes when Grace quietly crept into my room. “Rooooxy,“ she crooned, gnetly shaking me awake, "it’s your _wedding day_.” 

With a gasp, I sat up. “It’s my wedding day!” I shouted, feeling incredibly energized and excited, unlike literally every other morning of my life.

Grace laughed. “It is! We ordered you breakfast, come out with us.”

She left the room and I threw on pajamas that the hotel had made especially for me. There were white sweats and a white t-shirt that had, “Future Mrs. Wales” written in gold on the back. “Mrs. Wales!” I squealed, throwing it on. Of course, I would still be Roxanna DeLaSearle, but I would be Her Royal Highness Roxanna, Duchess of…whatever. Even thinking about just being Duchess of Whatever made me want to jump with excitement! 

I went out into the suite’s breakfast nook and saw my mom holding a thick, official-looking envelope. “This came early this morning,” she told me, holding it out to me.

Kate beamed at me, knowing what it was. I took it and tore it open, barely able to control my excitement. “So…what is it?” she asked eagerly. 

Taking a deep breath, I read the note out loud. “His Royal Highness Prince Henry Charles Albert David of Wales and Miss Roxanna Nicole DeLaSearle will, upon the commencement of their wedding, henceforth be titled their Royal Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.” Then, looking at all of them, I jumped up and down, waving the notice around. “I’m a Duchess! I’m an HRH!”

“What does that mean?” my mom wondered out loud.

Kate waved a hand. “Nothing really. It means she gets to be referred to as an HRH, and people have to bow to her now. Plus, she’ll get the same privacy and protection as Harry does, which is the most important.”

“Well I’ll say,” my mom agreed.

Grace raised an eyebrow. “We can still call you Roxy, can’t we?”

I thought about it. “Well…yes. But not today. Today, I am Her Royal Highness, Roxanna, Duchess of Sussex.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” Grace muttered, but begrudgingly agreed to the title.

“Eat up, we got you English breakfast,” Kate said, gesturing to a plate at the table. 

I clutched my stomach. “Kate, I couldn’t eat now,” I told her, shaking my head. “Where’s my dress?!” I knew I sounded slightly hysterical, but I couldn’t wait even a second longer to put it on!

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and I waved in the team of artists who were doing my hair and makeup as well as Kate’s, Grace’s, and my mom’s. “Come in! Come in! I’m getting married!” I practically shouted at them. Laughing, they obliged and one of them politely asked if I’d gotten my title yet. “I’m the Duchess of Sussex,” I bragged. “No big deal, I’m just a Duchess.” I had just sat down so that they could get started on the apparently lengthy process of making me look presentable when I gasped and jumped back up again. “Which prince do you have to be marrying around here to get some champagne?”

My make up girl pushed me down firmly by the shoulder while Kate got up from where someone was patting primer onto her face to get a bottle out of the fridge. Grace got out four flutes and announced, “Happy wedding day!” before Kate popped the cork. “To Roxy and Harry,” Grace attempted to toast. Loudly, I cleared my throat and gave her a pointed look. Grace took the hint before correcting herself, "To Their Royal Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex,” and we clinked our glasses together.

“Roxanna Nicole, have you had anything to eat?” my mother asked as I sipped my champagne and one of the girls wrapped some of my hair around a curling wand. Instead of answering her, I looked around the room as if I hadn’t heard her speaking. She sighed, exasperated before repeating the question. “Your Royal Highness the Duchess of Sussex, have you had anything to eat?”

“No Mom, I can’t eat today! I have to fit into the dress!” 

As if she knew I was talking about the dress, at exactly that moment Ava opened the door and raised her eyebrows. “This is your last chance,” she told me. “If you don’t eat now, don’t even _think_ about touching so much as a _morsel_ once the dress is on.” While she said this, a team of three girls (in addition to the two who were already working on my hair and makeup) came in, carrying a huge garment bag. Behind them followed Victoria Beckham with Kate and Grace’s dresses, and behind _her_ were the Emanuels. They were in the suite for about six seconds before Elizabeth, half of the brother-sister duo, had to grab tissues and wipe under her eyes. This set my mom off and I clapped my hands together. “Hey! Pull it together!”

Sniffling, my mom repeated, “You have to eat something, Roxy.”

Heading Ava’s words, I chewed on my bottom lip. “All right, maybe a bite of toast.” I went back into the breakfast nook and took a bite of toast…before shoveling eggs, sausage, beans, tomatoes, and mushrooms into my mouth. I hadn’t realized I’d been starving. Once I was done stuffing my face, my hair and makeup girls were able to finish up. The girl doing my hair had curled it nicely, so it looked more put together than it’s natural curly state. Kate had put hers half-up, but I’d decided to just keep mine down, with my bangs swept to the side a little. The poor girl was going to have to stay until I put on the tiara so that she could make sure it was securely on my head, and the make up girl had to stay on hand in case of any disasters. I felt bad that they couldn’t actually come to the wedding, but they had to haul ass over to Buckingham Palace so that they would be able to touch me up for photos. 

Ava and her girls had been steaming my dress and setting it out for me so that I could basically step into it and they could button me up. Finally, feeling the butterflies spread from my stomach to my knees and up to my throat, I turned to Grace, who was more or less ready to go. She and Kate were in their beautiful white dresses looking like Grecian goddesses, which hadn’t been my intention, they were both just beautiful women. “Can we call B and Pippa while I get dressed?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she shrugged, and dialed the two of them on her phone. “Hey ladies, it’s Grace. Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Sussex wanted me to call you while she puts on her dress.”

The two of them oohed and ahhed, listening to the bustle of fabric as Ava and her girls held the dress open for me to step into. I held onto my mom’s shoulder as I stepped in with one foot in, then the other. A tear trickled down her cheek. “Is your mum crying?” B asked.

“How could you tell?” I responded sarcastically, and sucked in as Ava laced up the corseted section of the dress. Once it was all ready, I took a deep breath and turned to look in the full-length mirror. “Oh,” I sighed. “It’s…it’s better than I could have ever imagined.”

“You look lovely,” my mom told me.

The dress was perfect, and Grace and Kate did their best to describe its perfection in full detail to Pippa and B. The sleeves were long and delicate, not too heavy, not poofy, and not constume-y. The bodice sucked in my waist, which a thousand ballet costumes had never succeeded in doing. The skirt was beautiful, the finest silk with lace details. Pearl beading down the whole dress completed the classical look I was going for. I could hardly breathe. I couldn’t believe that this was me – that I was the woman standing in this beautiful dress, that I was the woman who was about to marry the love of her life, in a beautiful cathedral, in a romantic ceremony, surrounded by so many people who loved us. “Kate,” I looked back at her. She smiled and turned to open the velvet box with the Windsor crest monogramed on it. Grace handed me a few tissues and I dabbed at my eyes. “Thank you.” 

“All right, the _piece de resistance_ ,” Kate revealed, taking the sparkling tiara out of the box.

I sucked in another breath as she placed it onto the crown of my head. “I think I’m blind,” Grace pretended to shield her eyes from the thousands of glittering diamonds. 

Again, the girls present described my look to the girls who weren't before we all told each other we loved each other and hung up. There was a knock on the door and I looked around the room, trying to figure out who wasn’t already there. My mother frowned. “I’ll see who it is. They wouldn’t let anyone up who wasn’t allowed,” she figured out loud. When she returned from answering the door, she was carrying a large bouquet of daffodils. “These are for you, Your Royal Highness,” my mom smiled at me. “There’s a card.”

I inhaled the sweet scent that the flowers were giving off for about a second before Ava let out a screech. “Roxy!"

Grace, doing her duty as Maid of Honor, held her hand up. "Ava, we have to address her by her full title today." 

Ava's glare intensified. "YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF SUSSEX ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? GET THOSE MONSTROSITIES AWAY FROM HER NOW BEFORE SHE GETS POLLEN ALL OVER MY MASTERPIECE!” 

Laughing harder than I had in a long time, if ever, I handed off the flowers before my mother plucked the card out for me.   
_Fox –_

_I_ cannot _wait to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. I wish I could be there with you this morning. Don’t be nervous – you’ll be wonderful. I am so lucky that you have agreed to be my wife, and to help me through the journey we’re about to go on together. I love you with everything. I’ll see you soon._

_-Spice_

“Tissues! Tissues!” Grace called out, desperately searching the room for the box of Kleenex. She found some, tore them out of the box, and handed them to me. 

I dabbed under my eyes and turned to my mom. “I hope I can control it,” I told her.

“Good luck,” she said, sounding hopeless.

There was another knock on the door, and then it opened with no one answering it. I knew it was Penny before she bellowed out, “Marci, you’re supposed to leave in ten minutes, and we need Kate and Grace down with the pageboys and flower girls in fifteen!”

With that, I started to panic, just a little. How was I supposed to do this without Kate and Grace? How was I supposed to do this without my mom?

My mother had also started to panic, apparently, as she immediately burst into tears. “You look so beautiful, Roxanna,” she hugged me.

“Mom, don’t crinkle it,” I warned.

She only hugged harder. “I’m your mother, and this is your wedding day, I’ll crinkle your dress if I have to.”

“OH NO YOU WON’T!” Ava shrieked. 

When I pulled away from the hug, I held her by her shoulders. “Mom, are you going to be okay?” I asked her, wishing that she wasn’t alone. I’d worried that she’d look out of place next to Charles, Camilla, the Queen, and Prince Philip, but that had been silly, just a superficial worry. Now I just wished she had someone to support her, and someone to share this with. With Grace having Ray, and Eddie, and now me being with Harry, I was suddenly worried that she’d be lonely, especially in a new place where she didn’t know anyone…

“I’ll be fine,” she assured me with a heart-wrenching smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

When she left, my stomach felt like someone was stretching it like Silly Putty. I gulped.

The girls touched up my make up, my hair, and Ava tried to straighten out my dress and figure out my train, which was quite long. It wasn’t as long as Princess Diana’s, but it was way longer than Kate’s. I’d always wanted a long train and veil, ever since I’d watched Harry’s mother’s wedding…and also _The Sound of Music_. Ava had obliged, although she’d spent a lot of time threatening me about what would happen if it got wrinkled. Finally, Penny poked her head back in the suite and called out, “Kate! Grace! Time to go!”

Kate turned to me. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Ready,” I nodded, surely.

“I remember that feeling.” And then, faking a bow, she said, “I have nothing left to teach you, Grasshopper.” 

We giggled before I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Really, I couldn’t have done this without your help.” She smiled kindly at me. “Can you believe we’re here? I mean, ten years ago, would you have thought – “

“Yes,” she nodded before I could even finish the question. “Yes, I always knew you two would end up together.” Then, she took a deep breath and looked down at her watch. “Penny’s going to kill us,” she told Grace before turning back to me and, with a sigh, telling me, “You look so lovely, Roxanna.” She gave me a kiss on the forehead before opening the door to leave, and I got a glimpse of Penny’s disapproving face for a second before the door shut again. 

Grace just beamed at me and tried to blink her tears back, unsuccessfully. “I’m so proud of you, Rock.” She hugged me and we both sniffled, just a little. 

And then she left, too, and it was just me…and half a dozen girls who were primping me. “Can I…just be alone for a minute?” I requested. Ava, for once in her life, knew when to shut her mouth. She nodded and gestured for the other girls to leave the room. I drew in a deep breath, looking at my reflection again, and then…then it hit me. There was no one on the face of the earth who was ever going to know what this felt like, who was ever going to be in this position. There would be other royal brides who came from common stock, and they’d marry the heir to the throne or other royal relatives, princes, dukes, counts, but there was never going to be anyone in my exact position at this exact moment. I was the only one who knew what this felt like. I was the only person in this room, right now. It was maybe the last time in my life that I’d ever be completely and totally alone.  
Just as I thought that, my phone buzzed on the bed. 

_Leaving CH now. Can’t wait to see you. –H._ Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, reminding myself that it was worth it. I remembered how I’d woken up to see Harry sitting before me when he came back from Afghanistan. My heart fluttered, just as it had back then. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door softly clicked open again. Opening my eyes, I looked in the mirror to see Penny coming up behind me. She gave me a gentle smile before softly telling me, “Prince Charles is here.” He’d been transported from Clarence House, and they’d driven in a wide loop to avoid the Cathedral on the way to the hotel. He was supposed to stop in the lobby to pick me up, and apparently, that time had come. “Are you ready to go down?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, and then she, Ava, her team of girls, and I all made out way down to the lobby of the hotel. 

Charles was waiting, looking every bit the part of the hero prince in his formal Navy uniform, almost identical to the one he'd worn to his own wedding. Ava and the girls fixed my train as Charles drew in a deep breath and gave me a small smile. “Roxanna, you’re a vision,” he sighed.

“Thank you,” I bowed my head. 

He held an arm out and the group of us left the hotel, past the staff, who were lined up, formally waiting to bid me good bye. I waved to them and quickly thanked them for their help as Penny went outside to make sure the car was at the end of the walkway that would protect the dress from the cameras until the last possible second. 

While we waited, Charles turned to me. “You and Kate are such wonderful women,” he started. “Lord knows Diana and I made our mistakes. And that’s an understatement. But when I see my boys ending up with such amazing women, I know… _that’s_ the thing we got right.”

Blinking away my stinging tears, I assured him, “You got a lot right.”

Charles’s eyes were rimmed with red. “If she could see you now.”

“Don’t get me started,” I cautioned, waving my eyes to dry them. 

“Your Royal Highness, we’re ready for you,” Penny ducked her head in. It took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. Blinking, I smiled at Charles and made my way out the door. Even though I was shielded by white sheets, I could still tell that the cameras were flashing wildly. It was more than I had ever seen – like just one long stream of white light, like what getting into Heaven would have been like, if I ever stood any chance…and if the light at the end of the tunnel were actually the open door of an antique glass-top car, and not the pearly gates.

Charles opened the door and slid in. Ava stayed behind to put my dress in so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. For what seemed like a second, I caught a glimpse of the crowd, heard them cheering me on. I smiled lovingly at them and waved as we pulled away from the curb. They were so excited for me, it was touching. It made me think about all the times I’d been angry about people prying into my life when they had no right to. Well after today, they’d have a right. After today, I would have to let it roll off my shoulders, not bother me as much.

“Like this, dear,” Charles said, instructing me on how to wave like a royal. Instead of swishing back and forth like windshield wipers, it was just a small roll of the wrist. “Very good,” he smiled as I waved, properly, to the crowd.

In what felt like no time at all we were arriving at St. Paul’s. _My mother got married here_ , Harry had told me ten years ago, when I was _eighteen_ , as we'd stood on the steps, staring up at the beautiful church. My heart pulled, like it had back then. Charles got out of the car before coming around to my side. I was relieved when Grace handed me my bouquet, then straightened out my train and veil. It was comforting to see her face. “How’s Mom?” I asked.

She plastered on a smile. “Doing fine,” she said, assuring me that my mother was bawling into the Queen’s hat. 

I blushed as she took hold of Eddie and Louise’s hands. Kate was leaning down to tell Georgie to stop pulling at his buttons. The little girls were all in white silk and taffeta dresses, pretty standard flower girl attire, but the pageboys were all in what were supposed to be miniature Sandhurst uniforms. For formal events, the boys were supposed to wear black pants and red jackets with gold buttons…it kind of made them look like bull fighters, but on the little boys they were adorable. George, apparently, disagreed. Kate finally got him to stop squirming and she took his hand in one of hers and Mia Tindall’s in the other. 

“Wave, darling,” Charles prompted me. 

It wasn’t until he reminded me that there were people watching that I heard the roar of the crowd. They were shouting and clapping and waving. There were pictures being taken and film crews getting close ups and I knew at that moment Ava and Penny were sending out formal press confirmations on my assorted dress designers. I took a deep breath and waved the way Charles showed me. 

We entered the cathedral and I inhaled the wonderful scent of London. Of home. The Reverend and the Dean met me there, just as we’d planned. “Hello Roxanna,” the Reverend gave me a friendly smile. “Don’t worry, your groom and the best man are safely waiting for you at the end of this aisle.”

Looking down I admitted, “It seems _really_ far away.”

“It’ll go by quicker than you think,” he assured me. 

The music started up, _Fanfare Rejoicing_. It was one of the songs from Charles and Diana’s wedding, and it occurred to me that I was proving Katie Nicholl right. I would have hated that more if I weren’t so perfectly blissful. “You’ll have to keep me from sprinting down there,” I told him.

He gave me a once over. “And give everyone such a brief chance to admire your dress?”

“You’re right, I’ll walk. Slowly,” I added. 

He held his arm out. “Here we go, my dear.”

As we walked down the aisle, I tried to smile at the heads of state that were present. I spotted David and Victoria Beckham (she’d left the hotel through the back and had been rushed to join her husband at the cathedral) and Marcus Mumford and Carey Mulligan and, out of excitement, slipped back into an informal wave. They chuckled and waved back. As we walked closer to the front, I saw Barack and Michelle Obama (he hadn’t been the leader of the free world in years, but I’d insisted on inviting him, and the Clintons, anyway) and gave another excited wave. They kindly smiled and nodded. 

“It feels like just yesterday I was walking down this aisle with another bride,” Charles spoke softly. I was surprised and blinked at him. “After today, Roxanna, you’ll inherit these people. All of these people. And all of the ones waiting outside. And millions of others that you haven’t seen, and never will. You’ve handled your situation so gracefully, but you’ll make mistakes. And when you do, don’t worry. Like parents, they may be disappointed, but they’ll forgive you. They’ll come around.” 

Suddenly, in what felt like no time at all, we were standing before the altar. Harry’s back was rigid, his shoulders broad. He looked so handsome, even from behind, in his black uniform with the ceremonial gold braids. William turned around and grinned, as Harry had at his wedding. He nudged Harry’s shoulder with his elbow and I knew he was saying something that would make Harry’s anticipation even worse.

“There’s no one else more worthy of you, my sweet Roxanna,” Charles said, blinking away his own tears. 

I smiled at him, and was about to express my gratitude – for walking me down the aisle, for hugging me the day he came back from Asia and Harry was in recovery, for standing up for me before Harry was about to be called to Afghanistan, for welcoming me, whole-heartedly, into his life, but the Dean spoke up before I could. “Right. Are you ready to get married?”

I giggled my answer. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

He smiled kindly at me and the music ended. The second song started, _I Was Glad_ , which had played at William and Kate’s wedding and the Queen’s Jubilee. Taking a deep inhale (which was sort of hard in this dress), I stepped up to meet Harry. Letting out a visible breath, he turned to me and took me in. His eyes started to mist and well with tears and he blinking his fair lashes together, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fox, you’re…you’re amazing.”

I sighed, feeling like I could have purred and cuddled against him. Somehow, I restrained myself. Harry leaned over and, smiling so as not to have his lips read, he told his dad, “Thanks for taking care of her for me.”

And then, in what I thought was a completely astounding coincidence (unless it wasn’t one at all, which I suspected as Charles winked at me), Prince Charles told him, “She’s all yours now.”

The music ended, and the Dean started, “Dearly beloved.”


	134. And All Of My Worldly Goods With Thee I Share...Finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After this cliché part of the vows, and the introduction to our wedding, the Dean and the Reverend switched places. I had to control my eye roll. This was the fire and brimstone speech. In a normal wedding, it would be the dramatic, _The Graduate_ part – speak now or forever hold your piece. At _our_ wedding, it was an acknowledgment of our past sins, and _then_ speak now or forever hold your piece. At Charles and Camilla’s wedding, they had actually had to verbally admit to their past wrongdoings (i.e., having an affair) and atone for them. How humiliating. “If either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.” I had to bite down on my lip to keep from grinning. It was just so ridiculous! Harry’s eyebrows rose as he waited and I stifled a giggle.

Taking a breath, the Reverend turned to Harry. My heart started to pound so hard that I was sure everyone in the cathedral could hear it. “Henry Charles Albert David, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health? and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

With a proud smile, Harry nodded, “I will.”

The bishop turned to me. “Roxanna Nicole, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health? and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” 

What was he asking me to do that I hadn’t already done? “I will.”

The Reverend gave Charles a kind smile, understanding that it was every bit as special and intimate as if it had been my own father…actually, moreso, because my own father was a terrible person. “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

Clearing his throat, Charles turned to me, and with a half-pained look, he placed my hand into the hand of the Reverend. The Reverend took my hand and placed it into Harry’s. His palm was warm. I smiled at him, silently asking, “Are you ready?” Harry seemed to read my mind, and the glint behind his blue eyes told me that he was. Repeating after the archbishop, Harry said his vows. “I, Henry Charles Albert David, take thee, Roxanna Nicole, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer,” I could tell that he tried not to laugh on that one, “in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

My heart soared. He’d been mine for nearly ten years, but now it was official. Our hands parted, and then I took Harry’s right hand, and repeated my vows. “I, Roxanna Nicole, take thee, Henry Charles Albert David, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.” My throat constricted and I blinked back the emotion. I was acutely aware that there were about five thousand cameras on me right now, and crying was not my best look. 

We let go of each other’s hands and Harry winked at me as the Reverend placed our wedding bands in the center of the Bible. At the rehearsal yesterday, William had tossed us Ring Pops to use as props. I remembered the moment and smiled to myself before briefly looking past Harry’s right shoulder to where Will and Grace were sitting, watching us. My sister looked younger somehow, and I could tell that she was genuinely happy for me. It felt nice, to be in a good place with her, even after everything that had happened with my dad.

Taking the ring, Harry held my left hand. My breath completely left my body as I looked into his eyes. “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee honour; and all my worldly goods with thee I share: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

I hadn’t even realized that my hand had started to shake until I took Harry’s ring from the bishop. Clearing my throat, I looked up at Harry. “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee honour.” Before I could say the next line, Harry sensed my nervousness and tried to put me at ease by crossing his eyes. It was only for a fraction of a second and I was sure that no one had seen it but me. It worked, and I giggled, and then blushed. “And all my worldly…” I had to stop, I was giggling too much. The guests laughed, too, amused by this odd display of emotion. Turning to the Reverend, I apologized. “I’m sorry,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand. I got control of my giggles and continued. “And all my worldly goods with thee I share: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Out of nowhere, I heard a chorus of cheering and realized that it was coming from the mob outside. I giggled again, but so did Harry. The Reverend even had a chuckle at the applause and then started the prayer. Harry and I kneeled on the cushions before him and bowed our heads, still holding hands. “Let us pray. O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, giver of all spiritual grace, the author of everlasting life: Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy name; that, living faithfully together, they may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, whereof these rings given and received are a token and pledge; and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” I thought about how I had bemoaned the religious aspect of our ceremony while Harry and I had first started planning. But I got it now. It was sort of nice. I may not believe in God, but these people who did were wishing Him to bless us, and to bless our marriage.

Wrapping the cloth around our hands, the Reverend said, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” I got the chills and Harry peeked at me out of the corner of his eye, smirking. Speaking out to the congregation, the bishop went on. “For as much as Henry and Roxanna have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Again, there were cheers from outside. I opened my mouth and gave Harry an excited smile. He smiled back, just as enthusiastically. The congregation laughed again. I longed for a regular wedding, when Harry and I would share a romantic kiss at this point. But then I remembered that we’d have our moment on the balcony and got butterflies in my tummy. 

During the hymn, Harry and I stood and walked over to our chairs next to Grace and William. The two of them got up and embraced us. “Congratulations Rock,” Grace beamed at me, wiping away her tears. 

“Congratulations, Roxanna,” William hugged me. “You look gorgeous.” 

“Thank you,” I blushed. 

Harry gave my hand a squeeze and we sat. “Now for the easy part,” he grinned. My heart was still pounding either from the rush of what had just happened or in anticipation of the balcony kiss. “What?” Harry asked, sensing my nerves.

“I’m nervous for the kiss,” I admitted.

Harry chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’re very good at it.”

I giggled, earning and disapproving look from Grace. I hoped the news crews wouldn’t try and figure out what we were saying. Blushing, I tried to sit solemnly and pay attention as the choir started up another song. Once that was over and the Dean started his address, Harry turned to me. “I’m getting bored,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Harry!” I scolded.

“What? Why does it have to take so bloody long?” he asked, pulling at his collar. “It’s hot in here.”

I handed him my program. “Here, fan yourself off with this.”

“Aren’t you hot?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t even care if I am. I want to wear this dress every day of my life.”

“It is a beautiful dress. And you’re a beautiful bride.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I want to kiss you. And a few other things, too.”

“Harry,” I giggled, surprised, and then blushed. “We’re in a _church_.”

The address ended and the next song started. The Dean made his way over to us. “Right, time to sign,” he said.

Excited, I stood up and gave Grace my bouquet. She and William followed us behind the altar. There, on a pedestal, was a huge book. The pages were brittle and yellowed with age, the edges frayed. Next to it was a beautiful navy quill in an ink pot. I didn’t even know how to use one of those. Harry sat at the chair behind it, which was probably more accurately described as a throne, and the Dean pointed to where he was to sign. He got up and handed the quill to me. Before I signed my name next to him, I looked through the book. A few signatures up was Harry’s mother, and it made my heart warm. She’d been sitting where I was sitting, and she’d been feeling what I was feeling right now. 

Harry wiped my tears off my face that I didn’t even know were there and leaned over my shoulder. I could smell him, soap and sweat and…okay…I kind of got where his impatience to get physical was coming from. “Look, there’s Granny and Grandad,” he pointed to the Queen’s signature.

“Oh my God,” I breathed out. “And look! Her parents!” It was unreal, how much history was here, how much of Harry’s heritage. I ran my fingers over the signatures, thinking of all of the people in his family who had loved each other before we had. “I can’t believe my name is going to be in here.”

He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’re in it, now, Fox,” he smirked. “It’s too late to turn back.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assured him, before taking a deep breath and scribbling out my signature. I stood back up and Grace flattened out my dress, straightening out my train, before Harry and I went back out to the platform. Now there was just the prayer, then the blessing, and then “God Save The Queen,” and we were done. I practically jumped in the air with excitement. 

The Dean stood at the center of the platform once again and bowed his head. “Let us pray. Lord, have mercy upon us.”

Bowing my head, I recited the prayer my dad had taught me, shortly before he’d walked out on us. This time, though, unlike how I usually recited it, I said it in English. “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Harry, reciting the prayer next to me, looked at me impressed. I raised my eyebrows at him and continued. The prayers of the rest of the congregation echoed softly, and the sound brought me comfort in a way a prayer never had before. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief at how I was, for once, moved by something involving God. The Dean and the Reverend finished the (far too lengthy) prayer, and I must have kind of zoned out because I jumped when the Fanfare sounded. Harry snickered and I blushed, giggling, hoping the cameras hadn’t caught it, but knowing that of course, they probably had. We stood and I gave Harry’s Gran a glance. She stood as well, respectively listening as the congregation asked God to save her. I smiled, thinking of the kids singing it outside last night at the hotel. I remembered her signature in the register, next to Prince Philip’s. She had met him when she was thirteen, and married him not ten years later. There was something romantic about falling in love during a war. I hadn’t ever thought of their relationship as a romantic one before, just something that was. “Send her victorious, happy and glorious, long to reign over us: God save the Queen.”

And finally, Harry held his arm out to me. I looped mine through his, beaming at him in what I knew was an incredibly dorky way. He smiled back at me, just as cheesy, and we walked down the steps to his Granny. I couldn’t help smiling at her before I curtsied. She bowed, smiling back kindly. And that was that. After ten years and seven months, two deployments, one drug addiction, several international tours, a graduation, and so much love shared that there were moments that I could hardly believe it, we were married.


	135. King of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When we walked out of the cathedral, the cheers from the crowd were deafening, and the flashes from the cameras were blinding. The carriage that would take us back to Buckingham had pulled up at the end of the red carpet and Harry and I approached it, waving to the crowd. He got in first, then held my bouquet and took my hand as I desperately tried to get up the little steps without stepping on my dress or falling flat on my face. When I finally got in the carriage, with help from Grace so as not to ruffle my dress, Harry pressed his forehead to mine. “Are you happy?” he asked, and the crowd grew louder, excited by this _extremely_ public display of affection.

I smiled at him. “I’ve never been happier.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, and then pulled away. “Wave to your public, darling.”

“Look, your dad taught me how,” I told him, showing off my royal wave. 

Impressed, Harry gave me a toothy grin. “Perfect marks!” The carriage took off from the curb and headed back in the direction of BP. Harry and I waved and he turned to me. “You really do look absolutley gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Spice.”

He looked like he was thinking about something, and then a moment later he stood up and held his arms out, like Leonardo DiCaprio in _Titanic_. “I’m married!” he shouted, and the crowd went wild. Horrified, I watched him, mouth wide open, and looked around at the guards, wondering what to do. They did nothing, didn’t even smile or turn their heads, just as they’d been trained. “We’re finally married!” he shouted like a crazy person, and then, realizing exactly what he looked like, he called out, “I’m king of the world!”

“Harry! Sit _down_!” I demanded, humiliated. I yanked on his hand and he flopped down in the carriage next to me, that all too familiar mischievous grin on his face. “Your grandmother is going to kill you.”

He waved a hand. “I’m a fool in love, Roxanna. Or should I say, Your Royal Highness, the Duchess of Sussex.”

I giggled and we pulled into the gates of Buckingham Palace. Harry took my hand as we stepped out of the carriage and headed into BP. I waved to the people outside and headed in. It was nice to shut out the sound of the crowd. The photographer was able to snap a few pictures of Harry and I, which would almost immediately be released to the media, while we waited for the rest of the family to join us. “Hi Mom,” I greeted her as the others walked in. “I’m so glad you composed yourself.”

“I’m completely capable of composing myself, Roxanna,” she told me.

I hugged all of the pageboys and flower girls, wrapping my arms around Georgie and Mia. “You two were so good!” I praised them, kissing their chubby cheeks. The others had been wonderful as well, and I let them know, but Mia and George were the youngest ones, and the ones I had, quite frankly, been worried about.

Eddie beamed at me and nudged me with his elbow. “So _now_ is he Uncle Harry?” he asked the same question he’d been asking since he was a toddler. 

“Yes,” I sighed. “ _Now_ he’s Uncle Harry.

“Your Royal Highness, pictures,” Penny reminded me, using my title as per my request. When I looked up at her, she tapped her watch. We only had a few minutes for the rest of the group pictures, then we were going out on the balcony. I stood up and walked over to the Great Entrance, where we were staging the photographs. First there was one of just Harry and myself, then the two of us with Grace and Will, then Piers and Kate, then our parents, then the whole family, one with us and the pageboys and flower girls, then all of them plus the adult bridesmaids and groomsmen, and then the _entire_ wedding party.

“My face hurts from all the smiling,” Harry whined.

Grace laughed. “Roxy and I learned this trick in dance,” she turned around to tell him. “You smear Vaseline all over your teeth to keep you smiling.”

“Vaseline?” Harry asked, confused.

“It tastes awful so you don’t want to close your mouth,” I told him.

“I have some in my purse, Harry, and don’t think I won’t use it,” Penny threatened. 

Plastering a big fake smile on his face, Harry shook his head. “No, no I’m fine.” We all chuckled at his sudden change of heart and in a dizzying instant of flashes and posing, Penny told the photographer that his time was up and we were due on the balcony. Taking my arm, Harry asked, “Are you ready for this?”

“Yes. Keep the theatrics to a minimum, please,” I requested, knowing that he wasn’t going to listen.

With a mischievous glint in his clear, blue eyes, he asked, “Me? Theatrical? Mrs. Sussex,” he used my new name, making me shiver, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

The crowd outside was going absolutely insane, cheering and calling out to us. I could hear them before the two BP staff members opened the balcony doors. The applause sounded like a waterfall. Or ten waterfalls. “Oh my God,” I breathed out, certain that no one could hear me over the rush of the crowd. All of those people were out there to see me, and they were cheering because I _meant_ something to them. I wasn’t just a pretty girl in a white dress. Harry and I were national pride, and the promise of a less morose monarchy than the previous generation.

I looked over to see Harry smiling at me, looking embarrassed, a relatively new look for him. Laughing, I took his hand. The crowd was already chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Before we could give in to their demands, the chanting changed from PDA requests to another rousing chorus of “God Save the Queen.” Laughing, I nudged Harry’s elbow and we joined in, waving out at the crowd. After they finished the song, they started shouting for us to kiss again. Just to be a tease, Harry cupped a hand around his ear, like he couldn’t hear them. I giggled and rolled my eyes, covering my mouth with my hand. After the crowd got a bit louder, which I didn’t know was possible, Harry turned to me. “Come on, let’s give the kids what they want.”

“All right. No tongue,” I warned. Agreeing, Harry reached out and pulled me into him, dipping me low like he had last night. I let out a squeal of laughter and the crowd exploded into cheers as we kissed. When we pulled away, I felt my heart flutter. “Hello husband.”

“Hello wife.”

He stood me back upright and we waved to the crowd one last time before everyone filed back in. Penny turned to Harry and me. “Now we have brunch, then you’re going to do a tour in the Aston Martin, right?” We nodded and Harry wrapped an arm around my waist, nuzzling his face in my hair. “Then back to Kensington, and then back here for the reception. Harry, are you listening?” she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“No,” he answered honestly, kissing my temple. 

I giggled and pushed him away as he kissed my neck. “ _I’m_ listening, Pen,” I assured her. 

“When can we consummate this marriage?” Harry asked her. She gave him an impatient glare and Harry cleared his throat, becoming serious. “Right. Brunch, drive, party. Got it.”

By the time we got back to the dining room, there was a huge line of guests to receive. I took a deep breath to prepare myself, grabbed a flute of champagne off a tray that a waiter was passing around, and stood next to my husband to greet 600 of our nearest and dearest.  
*** 

When we finally shut the door to the bedroom at Kensington, I realized that it seemed as if I hadn’t been alone with Harry in weeks. I had an odd feeling; exhausted but electrified at the same time, my head buzzing. It felt like the day had passed in a blur of picture-taking and secret giggles with Harry, and kisses…lots of kisses. When the door clicked shut, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding in and turned to Harry. “You look handsome,” I smiled at him.

“And you look delicious, Mrs. Sussex,” he smirked, taking two strides over to me and kissing my neck. My heart may actually have done a somersault. 

He started reaching for the buttons of my dress and I stopped him. “Wait, no! We have to wait for Ava to get here!”

“I think I know how to unbutton a dress,” he insisted, slipping the satin buttons through their loops. He proved this, very slowly, and when it was all the way undone down to the small of my back, he traced his index finger down my spine. I shivered, goose bumps puckering on my skin. Harry leaned down, trailing kisses from behind my ear, down my neck. Just when I’d shut my eyes and was about to shimmy out of my dress, there was a knock on the door.

Harry swore under his breath. “Whoever it is, go away!”

I let out a cackle of laughter and opened the door for Ava. “He’s just kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

Ava’s eyes immediately shot down to my dress. “What have you done?” she cried out. “No! This is all wrong! I told you to wait for me!”

“I’ve taken a dress off before, you know,” Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

Ava raised an eyebrow. “A _wedding_ dress?”

Okay, she had him there. Harry muttered that he had not and Ava helped me out of the dress, which was kind of what I thought being in Cirque de Soliel must be like. She had to hold it up, and I had to squat down on the floor, and then she had to pull the dress off me. My heart panged as she zipped it into a very large, clear garment bag. “Bye dress,” I gave it a sad wave. 

“You can go visit it in Buckingham any time you like,” Ava reminded me. “I’ll bring the Beckham over for the reception at six.” Then, with a wink, she simply said, “You two enjoy yourselves,” and left. I didn’t realize that I was standing in shape wear, which was practically a corset, frilly panties, and heels until I looked back at Harry.

He let out a primal growl and, without warning, scooped me into his arms before dropping me on the bed. Laughing, I scolded him. “Harry! Don’t ruin your uniform!” He paid absolutely no attention to me, just nibbled at my earlobes, and in a second, I didn’t care about the damn uniform either.

When Harry instinctively reached over to the nightstand for a condom, I grabbed his hand back. He gave me a questioning look and I bit down on my bottom lip. “Come on. Let’s get started on those ginger babies.”

A wide grin spread across his mouth and he buried his face in my neck, and a few seconds later, when we’d both frantically torn his clothes off, we did.


	136. Ballerina, You Must Have Seen Her Dancing in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter includes parts of the songs, "Tiny Dancer," by Elton John, "One and Only," by Adele, and "Lover of the Light," by Mumford & Sons.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Harder! Harder! Harder! Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The bed was squeaking so loud and the headboard was slamming against the wall so hard that it was a miracle that we heard the knock on the door. We’d been having a pretty ridiculous amount of sex for the last couple of hours, being quite aggressive in our attempts to make a little prince or princess. It was actually kind of embarrassing, but I was pretty sure that this was how all couples behaved after their wedding...right? 

“Not a good time!” Harry informed whoever was knocking.

“I don't care!” Ava argued through the door. “Do you know what time it is? You have to start getting ready!”

Breathing heavily, Harry looked down at me, swearing under his breath. “Are you close?” he asked.

Nodding, I breathlessly answered, “Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah,” he told me, and then said to Ava, “Wait a minute!”

We heard her groan from behind the door, probably equal parts annoyed and grossed out. Harry thrust into me harder, as per my request, and faster. I lifted my hips up to him, and, even though I knew Ava was right on the other side of the door, that didn’t stop me from crying out…loudly. It didn’t take long before I felt him spill into me, sticky and warm, and we collapsed down onto the bed, trying to catch our breath. I finally got up on shaky legs, wrapping an embarrassingly stained sheet around me and making for the bathroom.

When I came back out, wearing a bathrobe instead of a bed sheet, Harry was in his grey pajama bottoms, opening the door for Ava. She took one step inside the room before wrinkling her nose and fanning her hand in front of her face. “Good God! You couldn’t open a window?”

Blushing, I explained, “We didn’t want all of London to hear us.”

“Yeah, pretty sure they did anyway,” Ava insisted, pulling a couple windows open herself. When she had let some fresh air into the room, she hung the black garment bag on the bag of the door and unzipped my reception dress. It was…untraditional, to say the least, but it had gotten approval from Harry’s grandmother, which was really all that mattered. It was short, for starters, ending just above my knee. It was cinched at the waist with a soft, powder blue ribbon, and it had short sleeves and a high neck, to make up for the short skirt. I was sort of shocked that Her Majesty had approved it, but I figured she was more easily persuaded by the fact that she didn’t have to see it, as she wasn’t going to be at the night reception.

Yawning, I told her, “I need to take a shower.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “You don’t have time for a shower!”

“If I go to the reception without one I’m pretty sure I’ll impregnate all of the women there,” I insisted.

Wrapping his arms around my waist from behind me, Harry planted soft kisses on my neck. “I need a shower too,” he murmured in my ear.

I was already getting ideas when Ava clapped her hands in front of our faces. “Hey! No!” she snapped at us like she was scolding a dog. “No distractions! Just hurry up!” When we made for the bathroom, hand in hand, however, she stepped in between us. “ _One_ at a time!”

Glaring at her, I told her, “Ava, I am going to go to my reception, go on my honeymoon, and then I’m coming back here and getting you a boyfriend.”

“I don’t care _what_ you do when you come back,” she sighed, clearly exasperated. “For now, you need to get in the shower. Come on, don’t just stand there glaring at me.”

When I shut the door behind me and turned the water on, I called through the door, “You know we’re already married, right? The hard part is over.”

“And when you’re late, how am I supposed to explain that? ‘Oh, sorry, they were just boffing each other to death.’”

Snickering, I got in the shower, attempting to be as quick as possible so I wouldn’t give her a heart attack.

*** 

After Harry and I had showered and changed into our reception outfits (Harry was somehow looking even more gorgeous in his tux than he had in his uniform), we got into a blacked out town car, but not before letting a few more people snap pictures of us. When we headed into the reception hall at BP, everyone was already there, sitting for the dinner. On stage, Sir Elton John sat behind the piano before leaning up to the mike and announcing us. “Ladies and gentlemen, Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Sussex,” he introduced us to applause from our guests before he struck up the familiar into to “Tiny Dancer.” 

Feeling like I was falling into some hazy dream, I rested my head on Harry’s chest as we swayed. He sang along to the song softly in my ear. 

“I can’t believe Elton John is our wedding band,” I admitted. Actually, he was just doing our first dance. Our wedding band was a rotation between Adele, Ellie Goulding, Florence and the Machine, Ed Sheeran, and Mumford & Sons. We’d personally asked them all if they would do it, and they’d all been very sweet about the whole thing. After they got over the initial shock, they were super grateful, which was weird because I felt like I was the luckiest person on the face of the earth that they'd even consider it. Harry and I had met the guys from Mumford & Sons at Glastonbury (a huge music festival) one year, and we’d gone to a bunch of their shows in London, but it apparently still came as a surprise when we asked them to play the wedding.   
“Well, it was you or the Spice Girls,” I shrugged.

Marcus Mumford had let out his trademark loud laugh, before warning me, “They’d probably be much better.”

When we’d asked Ed Sheeran to do it, he’d just come off stage and was dripping with sweat. We’d gone around a back entrance and were keeping the whole thing very hush hush, so as not to tip anyone off. He’d wiped the sweat off his face before looking up and doing a double take. ”Holy fuck.”

I laughed before introducing myself and Harry. ”You’re my second favorite ginger,” I told him.

He shrugged and, gesturing to Harry, said, “Can’t complain when that’s my competition.” When we explained to him why we were there and our plans for the reception, he’d paused for a second before assessing, “So basically your reception is just going to be one big concert.”

“Well…yes,” I’d nodded, never having thought of it like that before.

“Yeah, all right then,” he smirked. 

I still couldn’t believe that our reception was basically going to be a all-star line-up of my favorite musicians. Harry kissed my forehead, snapping me out of my memories. “Stick with me, kid. There’ll be more where that came from.”

I shrugged. “Eh. Okay, I _guess_ I’ll stay with you for a while.”  
When we went over to the table at the end of the dance, Grace stood up and was handed a microphone. The room quieted and looked up at her expectantly. Clearing her throat, she started, “I might as well tell you all that I take full credit for this,” she gestured to where Harry and I were sitting, “because Roxy never would have started dancing ballet if she hadn’t copied me. Which annoyed me an unbelievable amount at the time. Until I realized that you had to jam your feet into metal boxes, and then I was fine with it.” She smiled out at her audience. “I can still remember when my mom called me and told me that Roxy had befriended Harry. I was…confused to say the least. I had a lot of questions – would my sister be on every cover of every magazine for the next couple of months? Would people be trying to find out more about us, and our family? And, most of all, how long would it all last? Well, it lasted a long, _long_ time, and I didn’t really ever get over how strange it all was, until Harry called me up and told me that he was going to propose and he wanted us all to be there. When he told me that, everything stopped being strange and just…clicked into place.” Grace paused and beamed at us before continuing. “When we were really little, Roxy had this…fascination with the concept that there actually _were_ princes and princesses, that it wasn’t just in the fairytales. When I told her that they were real, she didn’t believe me, and I had to check this book out from the library, full of different monarchies around the world. But there was one picture that Roxy would always stop at, of William and Harry, and she’d look up at me and say, ‘They’re just like us, aren’t they?’ And I never really knew what she meant by that…not until recently, anyway.”

I actually hadn’t remembered that book until she brought it up just now. It had a cover with a dark green boarder and a picture of Princess Diana and Prince Charles on the cover. It was wrapped in a layer of protective plastic that made the most lovely crackling sound when you opened it. Grace sat on her bed, patting the space next to her, showing me pictures of different royal palaces all over the world. Every time she got to this one page, I would stop her, and look down at the picture of the two little princes, climbing on a firetruck, and another of them in front of school. Prince William had his arm around Prince Harry, who clearly didn’t like it there. Grace and I had a nearly identical picture of my first day of kindergarten, she trying to take me under her wing and me having absolutely no desire to let her. ”Prince Harry has an older brother, just like I have you,” I remembered telling her. 

“Yeah, so?” Grace shrugged.

I didn’t know it at the time, but what I meant was that Prince William probably annoyed the hell out of Harry, just like Grace did to me. ”Is Prince William as smart as you?” I’d asked, hoping he wasn’t for Prince Harry’s sake. Grace had laughed and answered that he probably wasn’t. She kept that part of the story out of her speech. I wasn’t really sure where she was going with this, anyway, she was kind of making it seem like I was some kind of stalker… 

“As some of you know, my mother has recently moved to London, and I was helping her pack up her house. I was in the attic and she’d kept a box of stuff that Roxy and I had when we were younger, and when I was going through it, I found this.” Reaching into her purse, Grace pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it up. It was a crayon drawing of a stick figure with black hair holding hands with a stick figure with red hair. There was a heart surrounding them, and the girl was in what was clearly supposed to be a wedding dress. They were both wearing crowns. In red crayon I had scribbled, “Roxy + Harry Forever.” I laughed, my mom sniffled, and Harry kissed my cheek. “So I guess Roxy knew all along that she and Harry would end up together. Congratulations, Roxy, my little sister. And to her new husband, Harry.” She toasted us and I sipped my champagne. It dawned on me that I’d already had tons of champagne today. How was I not loaded?

There was shuffling as Grace passed the microphone to William. He was looking dapper in his tux. I turned to Harry and kissed his cheek. They were both so handsome…mmph, these were some damn good genes! Okay, maybe I was a little drunk.

William cleared his throat before starting up. "I have to say, Roxy, and I'm ashamed to admit it now, but when I first heard about you, I was...surprised." I raised an eyebrow and waited for the laughing to die down before he explained. "Catherine and I had just announced our engagement, we hadn't even set a date yet, and Harry told me, very clearly I might add, that he knew who his date would be. I hadn't even met you yet, and you were apparently coming to my wedding! But, the more and more I saw of you, and heard about you, it became easier to see that my brother was, in fact, head over heels in love with you. And the reason it was so easy to see was because, for the first time in my life, he was acting like a _complete_ loser." Our guests laughed again and I gave Harry's knee a squeeze. "For once, he wasn't trying to brush this relationship off like he could take it or leave it, like he didn't care that much. He had completely leaned into the idea of being in love, and he _knew_ how ridiculous he looked! He'd come home from having a date with you, this huge grin on his face, and I'd immediately start taking the piss. He didn't even care! I'd say, 'This girl has got you under her thumb,' and he'd just keep smiling and say, 'Yeah, she does. She's amazing.' For the first time I can ever think of, he was perfectly content to stay home on a Friday night, as long as he was doing it with you. Clubbing was replaced with cuddles, hangovers with brunch with Catherine and I, slurring so bad we couldn't understand him with whispering sweet nothings over the phone." The crowd errupted into laughter as William looked at Harry, "Yeah, I heard you all those time and controlled my gag reflex. After he hung up I'd keep making fun of him for the sappy things he'd said and again, he would just smile and shrug it off. Did not care at all. Which made it significantly less fun for me. And ever since those first few months of dating, when I saw Harry, who does not easily or quickly fall in love, become so absolutely enamored with and truly grounded by Roxanna, ever since then, I have known with undoubted certainty that she would be his wife one day."  
Everything William was saying took me back to those early days, when Harry and I had been just so extremely in love, even before we'd said it, even when I was trying to get to know him better and just be friends. I remembered the first time he'd called me Fox, and then the moment I'd realized how intimate it was that we had petnames for each other. Harry had been laughing at something I'd said before admonishing me, "Don't sass me, Fox, it's unladylike," over the phone. I'd been so glad he hadn't been there to see how happy I knew I looked. I dabbed under my eyes with a tissue and placed a kiss on Harry's cheek. Just like William had described, he wasn't blushing or embarrassed at all by the exposure of how whipped he'd been. He still had that huge smile on his face. 

William continued. "Harry, on your wedding day, after watching you pledge to love Roxy for the rest of your life, I have good news to tell you. You could not have picked a better wife for you, a better woman to be the mother of your children someday. And the even better news is this - that when that happens, you will once again be able to say the word 'mummy,' with no heart-wrenching devastation, no hollow feeling inside. When you say it now, you will only feel proud of your wife, and more in love with her than you ever imagined you'd be. And I know that if Mummy was here tonight, she would absolutely love Roxanna as much as the rest of us do." Again, I used a tissue to wipe away my tears (which pretty much everyone had to do after that) as William raised his glass and toasted to us. "To Roxy and Harry, may they have a lifetime of joy, and happiness, and love."

I was momentarily surprised when William passed the microphone to Harry. The spotlight shined on him and I reveled in his amazing looks for another second. “Hello everyone. Thank you so much for coming to celebrate this amazing day with us. It has been absolutely wonderful. So thank you for helping to make this day a dream come true.” He smiled at everyone and then looked down at me. “The first time I told Roxanna I loved her was at my brother’s wedding a couple of years back, you all might remember hearing about it here and there.” Our guests chuckled. “We were dancing, and I said it, and Roxanna said it back, and I just thought, ‘Well that’s it. Today is the best day of my life, and nothing will ever be better than today.' But then the next day was even better, and so was the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. Every day that I have shared with Roxanna has been better than the day before.” He caressed my face and I smiled up at him, wanting to purr like a cat. “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life having days that are better than the one before. I love you, my darling girl.”

The crowd let out a collective, “Aw,” as Harry leaned down to kiss me. When we were done eating the most delicious food I’d ever tasted, all locally grown, all from sustainable farms, all fantastic, the music started up again. It was Adele this time, singing the song we’d been dancing to at Will and Kate’s wedding, “One and Only,” when Harry had told me that he loved me for the first time. Most of the guests followed us onto the dance floor, and I felt like my heart could burst while I spotted William and Kate laughing together, watched Piers lovingly place his hands on Bianca's beginnings of a belly, and caught Grace and Ray looking just as young and radiant as I'd remembered them looking on their own wedding day. 

After that, the music picked up from ballads to more dance-appropriate music. I was dancing like a crazy person with Harry, or the girls, any of the other guests, really. Mumford & Sons had taken the stage and had gone through a few songs before Marcus announced, “Roxy and Harry are being paged to cut the cake!” It was a good thing he’d said something or else we both probably would have completely forgotten. 

Penny led us over to the tall, several-tiered cake as the band started playing “Lover of the Light,” but not before congratulating us. ”How’re you all doing tonight? Everybody all right? It’s an honor to be here tonight with all of you. Congratulations, Harry and Roxy!” 

Giggling, I held onto Harry’s hand as we cut into the bottom tier. I held some out to him on a fork and he took it off, smearing it all over his face. I was confused for about five seconds before he pulled me into him, making my own face a mess. Our guests screeched with laughter and I pushed him away, shaking my head. “Harry!”

“I’m sorry Fox, it had to be done!”

“You’re not sorry at all!” I insisted.

“You’re right, I’m not.” Pieces of cake were handed out to our guests, the top few tears were removed for us to save, and Harry pulled me back out onto the dance floor.

_So love the one you hold,_   
_and I will be your gold,_   
_to have and to hold;_   
_a lover of the light._


	137. Right Where I Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Right Where I Belong" by Good Charlotte
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.
> 
> ***This chapter mentions the Bollywood actor Aamir Kahn, who starred in the Oscar-nominated film, Lagaan. I highly recommend watching this film.

The next morning, I knew that eventually I’d have to open my eyes and get out of bed, but for now I was trying as hard as I could to prolong that process. It really didn’t require much, just for me not to move and ignore the alarm. I felt Harry roll over next to me and wrap an arm around me. I took a deep breath and held onto him, feeling my eyes sting with the anticipation of having to open them. Harry reached behind me and smacked the alarm off. “I think we have to wake up now.”

“No,” I whined, much in the same way I’d whined to him the morning after William and Kate’s wedding, when I didn’t want to wake up, either, or last night when he’d insisted that it was late and time to head upstairs. 

“Fox, we have to be up in a few hours,” he’d reminded me.

“So why go to bed?” I’d asked.

Eventually, I’d decided to follow him. We had spent the night at Buckingham Palace because we were going to give the press a photo op when we left. It was a trade off – we’d give them leaving for our honeymoon and in return they wouldn’t bother us or sell any pictures from the actual vacation. Yesterday, it had bothered me that this was an agreement that even had to be reached, but today I didn’t care at all. I didn’t care about a lot of things. I was _married_!

Finally, I opened my eyes, rolled over, and had every intention of trying to make another ginger baby when, of _course_ , Ava knocked on the door. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, DeLaSearle, and no!”

I got out of bed, wrapped a bathrobe around me, and swung the door open. “It’s ‘Your Royal Highness the Duchess of Sussex.‘”

Ava rolled her eyes before pushing in with two other girls who were going to attempt to make me look like I _hadn’t_ been up until two in the morning. “That’s going to get old, quickly,” she informed me.

It took a while, but eventually Harry and I were ready to make our departure…or pretend to. We were leaving Buckingham in a helicopter, which was taking us to a small, private airport, because my days of flying commercial were mostly over. We were dressed and about to leave for the photo call when Ava stopped us and tossed a copy of today’s paper at me. “Check it out,” she grinned. On the front page was a picture of us in the carriage on the way back to the reception – Harry standing up like Leonardo DiCaprio and me, clearly shocked. _Harry’s King Of The World!_

I shook my head before kissing him on the cheek. “You’re too much, Wales.”

“That’s Sussex now,” he reminded me with a tap on my bottom.

We posed for pictures after the make up girls had worked pretty hard to make the dark circles under my eyes invisible. It didn’t take very long and we left Buckingham before boarding the royal jet. “Still no chance you’ll tell me where we’re going?” I asked Harry as we boarded.

“Nope,” he smugly shook his head.

Well, in that case, I was passing out. Given the small amount of it we’d gotten last night, I had absolutely no problem going back to sleep on the plane. I didn’t know how long it was going to be for, since I still didn’t know where we were going, but I was perfectly content to crawl into the bed of the royal plane and pass out. I woke up after a few hours, presumably, and it was evening where ever we were. Harry and I ate dinner (which was nicer than most real restaurant meals) and I begged him to at least give me a hint. He didn’t budge, however, so I took a Xanax and lay back down. Right before I passed out, I mumbled, “Are we there yet?”

Harry grinned back at me. “Yes.”

“Liar,” I smirked at him, and he snickered. With a sigh, I gave in. “I don’t really care. As long as wherever I’m going, I’m going there with you.”

Harry kissed my forehead before assuring me, “For the rest of our lives, Mrs. Sussex.”

He actually wasn’t lying _that_ much when he told me we were almost there, because the next time I woke up, Isabel and Paolo were getting ready for landing. There were four other guards with us, but I’d never worked with them before. “Okay, this is it, Fox. Put this on.”

“Huh?” I asked.

Harry held out a blindfold. “Put this on.” When I gave him a look expressing _exactly_ how I felt (which was that it would be a cold day in Hell before I put that thing on), Harry insisted. “Come on! I’ve got the big romantic reveal planned! Oh, and put these in.”

“ _Earplugs_? Harry, no.”

“Then we’re not getting off the plane.”  
Reluctantly, I obliged, making no attempt to hide my aggravation. He tapped my bottom, encouraging me to do as he said, and it was difficult to be mad at him when he was being so cute. He was clearly excited for this surprise he’d lined up for us. How adorable…and also frustrating. I let him tie the blindfold on me and demanded that Isabel take my hand as we headed out onto the tarmac. Wherever we were, it was oppressively hot, and it was definitely a city. The only thing I could smell was the scent of jet fuel, so that sense was no use to me. Even with the earplugs in, it was loud, although the car horns were muffled. I could hear people talking to Harry and the RPOs, but couldn’t hear enough to make out an accent. Before I could attempt any more, Izzy and Harry had shuffled me into a car. The sounds got just a little louder, but most of it was traffic. My native New Jersey ears were trained to be able to unmistakeably identify that sound. 

Okay, seriously…where the hell were we? Paris? No, it had been way too long of a plane ride for that. Maybe he’d taken me back to New York? But that didn’t really make sense, either…

When Harry and Izzy led me back out of the car, I could tell that we had gone into a hotel. The air conditioning was intense and the noise from before was totally shut out. I was led over to an elevator and it took a while before Harry tugged me back out of it again. Finally, he tapped me on the shoulder after setting me firmly in a specific spot. I took my earplugs out and he asked, “All right Fox, are you ready for our honeymoon?”

My stomach flipped a few times and my heart fluttered with anticipation. “Yes!”

Pulling gently, Harry let the blindfold fall away.

I could have taken in a _lot_ of other details, but the truth was that at that exact moment, all I could see was the color of the sky. It was a pale lavender color I’d only ever seen on my ballet costumes before. Gradually, it was softly fading into that beautiful lavender from a light, sherbet orange. The breathtaking sunset was only the backdrop, though. In the foreground was the distinct white marble architecture of the Taj Mahal. An entire monument built to show how much someone had loved another person.

Blinking, completely stunned, I turned to Harry, feeling my whole body vibrating. He was half-wincing, waiting for me to react. “You…you took me to India?” I finally managed to squeak out. 

Timidly, Harry slowly answered, “…Yessssss?”

The force from my hug knocked him over and we both went tumbling to the floor. It wasn’t a big deal, though, because the marble was covered in about two dozen plush velvet pillows. I pressed my mouth to his before placing my palms on either side of his face. “It’s perfect! It’s perfect, Harry! You’re perfect!”

He smiled up at me. “No, I’m not. And if I’m even a little bit close, it’s because you made me that way.” Before I could disagree with him, he kissed me again, and we went back to trying for those ginger babies.

_As I leave the empty station,_  
_first thing I see is the sun over the mountains._  
_West Hastings Street, anxiously waiting._  
_That’s when I feel that you are all around me._

We were spending two days in Agra, where the Taj Mahal was, two days in New Delhi, two days in Mumbai, and then four days in the coastal region of Goa. This kind of travel was how Harry and I usually broke up our vacations, because we both tended to get bored of sitting around lounging for too long. Everyone usually thought we were crazy for this, but it was just who we were.

Izzy, Paolo, and the other RPOs accompanied us to the Taj Mahal, trying to shield us from any cameras or cell phones. They did a pretty good job, and since I knew the pictures weren’t going to be sold and exploited for cash (as per our deal with the press, they wouldn’t accept them), I didn’t care about one grainy shot of us climbing one of the several huge spiral staircases.

As the tour guide (who had bowed to me – my first) took us through the light, open buiding that seemed to sparkle, he told us all about what the Taj actually was. “Out of a desert blossoms our poem in marble, all due to an eternal love,” he smiled pointedly at us. The Taj was built as a tomb for the Shah’s favorite wife, he explained. “While she was still alive, she made the Shah promise to be kind to their children and, upon her death, to marry again.” 

A lump formed in my throat just then, but I wasn’t sure why. It took me a couple seconds to figure out what this reminded me of, but eventually I remembered it just like it was yesterday. Harry and I had been in his bed, lying awake the night before he was about to leave for Afghanistan. “If something happens to me…I don’t want you to feel guilty about moving on. I want you to find someone else who can make you happy. I swear, Roxanna, he will be in love with you as much as he can, but he’ll still only love you _half_ as much as I do.” The memory, combined with the last several days of high emotions, inadequate sleep, jetlag, and loving each other nearly to death, I felt my eyes start to tear up. Harry reached out, offering me his hand, and when I looked into his light blue eyes I knew that he was recalling the same, heart-wrenching memory. 

_**You’ll never have to do that ever again.** _

The thought hit me suddenly, even though I’d subconsciously always known it to be true. It felt like…it felt the same way it had felt when I found out I’d gotten an offer to dance with the RBC; the way it felt when Harry had come home, safe, from his second deployment; the way it felt when I was walking down the aisle during our last rehearsal. Everything in my life, for the rest of my life, was going to be perfectly fine. Harry offered me a half-smile, and I knew that he could tell exactly what I was thinking. I took his hand then, and together we followed the tour guide further into the Taj, wrapped up in a love poem.

_And I don’t know where to begin,_  
_to say I’m sorry for my sins,_  
_so I collapse into your open arms._

When Harry had first started going to treatment for his addiction, he learned how to meditate, and he wanted to check out this temple when we stopped in New Delhi. As we stood in front of the rather large, white building, I marvelled at the perfectly maintained grounds and then looked back at Harry. His eyes were closed and he drew in a deep breath before holding his hand out to me. 

“It’s weird looking,” I muttered as we headed inside the temple. The Bahai temple, looked far more modern than the Taj, probably because the religion was relatively new, having only been established in 1863. So practically still in its infancy.

“It’s a Lotus,” Harry explained. 

It looked like a big, white beetle to me, but I took Harry’s word for it and we entered the temple. It was open inside, and the light filtered in beautifully. It was definitely better on the inside, where there were several simple benches, with plenty of people sitting on them, heads bowed. I took this all in before leaning closer to Harry and whispering, “Who’s in charge here? Where’s the priest, or whatever?” 

From behind us, someone chuckled. We turned around and were greeted by an older man, who was 90% bald. He was wearing loose linen pants and a long shirt that matched, grinning at us like he was in on some joke we didn’t get. “There is no one in charge here,” he explained in the same thick accent we’d been hearing for three days. “The Bahai do not have priests, as they do in western religions.”

“Oh,” I blushed. “Um…I didn’t know that.”

The man waved his hand. “No matter. I understand you are recently married?”

My blushed deepened, although I didn’t know why. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Harry explained, giving my and a small squeeze. 

“Sit,” the man offered, gesturing to one of the benches. “We’ll pray.”

Harry glanced at me, eyebrows raised, silently asking me if I was into the idea. He was clearly surprised when I nodded, and we sat down on a bench near the back. The man motioned for us to join hands, and we did. He took our interlocked hands in both of his and closed his eyes. “O peerless Lord, wed Thou in the heaven of Thy mercy these two birds of the nest of Thy love, and make them the means of attracting perpetual grace; that from the union of these two seas of love a wave of tenderness may surge and cast the pearls of pure and goodly issue on the shore of life. Make Thou this marriage as threading lights of Thine abounding grace, and luminous rays of Thy bestowals. Cause them to become the signs of harmony and unity until the end of time.”

I blinked my eyes open, surprised that they were stinging with tears. Harry looked up, too, and thanked the man. With an all-knowing grin, he nodded and left us to worship on our own. Harry smiled down at me tenderly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Like this,” he demonstrated, inhaling. “Just quiet your mind.”

“You _know_ I can’t do that.” I’d never been able to, especially not lately. There just always seemed like there was so much to worry about…

“Close your eyes,” Harry encouraged. “Just listen to your breathing.”

Following his instructions, I shut my eyes and drew in a deep breath, and for the first time in my entire life, I was able to quiet my mind. 

_I’m sorry it took me so long out here,_  
_for me to find my way back home._  
_I didn’t have a reason_  
_for when I stopped believing,_  
_but I needed you to know_  
_that I’m right where I belong._

Harry and I were determined to not only see the tourist parts of India, and to include the _real_ places. For this, one of the housekeepers taking care of our suite directed us toward the khari baoli market, which was this huge spice market in New Delhi. 

I’m not sure what I expected, but it was more overwhelming than anything I could have imagined. There were blocks lined with kiosks of men, women, and children shouting out in about eight different languages about what they were selling. Everyone was so squashed together and on the prowl for the very best, freshest, most flavorful spices that they either didn’t notice Harry and I or didn’t care. We strolled past dozens of baskets, buckets, and barrels full of every spice I could ever think of, and some that I couldn’t. Cumin seeds, cardamom, mustard seeds, something called nigella, and about a thousand different types of curries. They ranged from black to bright red in color and I had to resist the urge several times to just stick my hands in and feel the grains of whatever it was between my fingers. 

Near the end of the market, there was a tiny kiosk that had far fewer spices than the rest, and I heard small cries of, “Madam! Madam!” coming from it. When I looked over, there was a little girl in a filthy yellow dress standing next to a slighter taller, lanky boy in a pair of ripped pants and a t-shirt that had once been white. Tugging on Harry’s hand, I made my way over to the kiosk. When I got closer I realized that there were three more children, stuffing assorted spices into small, cloth bags. 

“Hello,” I smiled down at them. “What are you selling here?” 

“Cinnamon!” the boy proudly told me, flashing me a huge, white grin that contrasted from his dark skin. “India’s finest!” He held out a bundle of cinnamon sticks. “We have the best cinnamon at the market. Here, smell!” 

Taking the bundle from his boney fingers, I held it up to my nose and inhaled the sweet scent. Turning to Harry, I gestured for him to do the same. His eyes widened. “Wow, that _is_ good.” 

“The best!” the boy insisted. 

All right, how much?” Harry asked. 

The boy spoke frantically to the other children, who excitedly shouted back at him. Finally, he turned back to Harry and, completely serious, told us, “Two pounds!” 

Harry’s jaw dropped open in mock surprise. “Two _whole_ pounds?” 

The boy nodded, set in his ways. “No less!” 

Reaching into his wallet, Harry pulled out a handful of 20 pound notes and handed them over to the boy. His eyes widened and he reached out and snatched the money from Harry’s hand, like he was afraid he was going to change his mind. “Thank you!” he jumped up and down, showing off his profit with the other kids. 

The little girl in the yellow dress shouted something at him and the boy looked up at me. “My sister says you’re a princess.” 

“I am,” I confirmed. 

The little girl swatted his arm and, even though I didn’t know what she was saying, “See, I told you so,” to a sibling was universal in every language. The boy shrugged, “I thought you were an angel.” 

Immediately, I reached across the table with all the spices, including the best cinnamon in India, and wrapped the boy up in a hug. The little girl jumped up and down and tugged on his arm. Laughing, I pulled her into us. “Don’t worry, you get one, too.” 

Beaming at me with an unmistakeable look of pride, Harry lifted the little girl, resting her on his side. She smiled and touched his hair, probably never seeing that color on anyone before. “Silly isn’t it?” he asked, and even though she couldn’t understand, she giggled, and it was the most wonderful, sweet sound I’d ever heard. 

_Now I see can everything clearly,_  
_in the rearview, that you were right beside me._  
_So long ago, my voice of reason._  
_It disappeared, along with my conviction._

After New Delhi we made our way to Mumbai, the home of Bollywood, a more illustrious filmmaking institution than its American counterpart. I wanted to check out the industry, but there was another task I wanted to accomplish first. “I want to eat my way through this country,” I announced to Harry as the men working at our hotel dropped off our luggage. 

“I’m in,” he grinned at me. 

By now, word had spread through seemingly the entire country that we were honeymooning in India, but the media were keeping their word not to publish anything. When we were out on the street, however, we got tons of attention. I didn’t mind – it was a crowded place, completely overwhelming to all the senses. It was unlike anywhere I’d ever been for sure, and the people were not shy about calling out to us, like the kids in the market. This actually turned out to be a good thing, because Harry and I were completely serious in our mission to eat from one coast of India to the other. 

Out on the street, I looked up at Harry. “So…how do we do this without getting food poisoning?” 

“Hm…I’m not sure,” he mumbled, looking around. I followed his gaze, which eventually zeroed in on a young boy of about twelve or thirteen, begging on the sidewalk. Taking my hand, Harry approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. 

The kid turned around and immediately held his hands out, palms up. “Please, please sir, can you spare a little?” 

“How about this: I’ll spare a whole lot if you show us the best places to eat.” 

The boy considered this proposition. Just like the boy at the kiosk in the spice market, he clearly took his business very seriously. “Five pounds,” he demanded. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Harry begrudgingly told him with a smirk, pulling a ten out of his wallet and handing it to him. 

The boys narrowed his eyes at Harry, apparently the only person in India who didn’t know who we were. He held the bill up to the sun, as if to make sure it wasn’t a fake, before pocketing it. “Okay,” he agreed to the deal. “I show you best food in India!” Immediately, he grabbed Harry’s hand, apparently not worried about the royal no-contact rule and dragged us across the street and down a few blocks. He was small, so he could easily maneuver us through the other passerby, and we had to half-jog to keep up with him. Finally, the boy stopped at a kiosk and shouted to the man behind it. Everyone in India always sounded like they were angrily shouting at each other, but after a day or two I realized that they usually had to shout, just to be heard. 

The man behind the kiosk shouted sternly at the boy before gesturing to Harry and I. Eventually, he looked up at us, and, in a thick accent, explained, “This boy is not educated. He does not know who you are.” 

“That’s all right,” Harry shrugged. “We just wanted to know the best places to eat.” 

The man laughed. “He took you here?” He smiled at the boy and said something to him that sounded less angry before explaining to us, “This is my son.” 

I smiled. “Aw, that’s so sweet!” I ruffled his hair. The boy scrunched up his face and stepped out of my reach. “So, what should we try?” 

We spent the rest of the afternoon going from stand to stand, each one run by a different member of the boy’s family. We tried chaat, lassi, bajji, aloo tikki, and a sweet called vada pav. When I felt like I was about to explode, Harry knelt down to the boy’s level and handed him a fistful of bills, like he had to the boy at the spice market. “Thank you for showing us around.” 

The boy gave him a low, exaggerated bow, grinning up at us. “Of course, Your Highness.” 

_And now I know where it begins,_  
_accept forgiveness for my sins,_  
_and just collapse into your open arms._

Since we’d been in India, I’d been admiring the brightly colored, intricately embroidered sarees all of the women were wearing. I wanted one for myself, but I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate. “Just get one,” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like you’re going to wear it ever again anyway.” I wasn’t even going to really wear it in India; I just wanted one. 

Following this line of logic, I agreed and asked an employee at the hotel where the best place for a saree was. She pointed me to another large street market, and when we got there I was not in want of offers. There were plenty of women calling out to me. “Princess! Princess! Best saree in India!” Everyone in India claimed to have the best of everything. 

I was looking over all of the different, brightly colored fabrics when one woman called out to me, “We have wedding sarees for you, Your Highness!” 

Smirking, I looked up at Harry, nudging him a little. He shrugged in agreement and we headed into the small, tented area that was full of sarees in every different color and with every different pattern imaginable. The woman held out a pile of folded, red fabric up to me. “This is a traditional wedding saree,” she explained. “Brides in India wear red and gold on their wedding day,“ she explained before draping the deep red fabric over my shoulders, wrapping it around my body once, twice, until it hit the floor. There was another loose piece of fabric that she gently placed over my head, kind of like a veil. When I checked out how I looked in the traditional India wedding garb in the dusty, full-length mirror, I thought it looked almost as beautiful as my real wedding dress. “Check me out,” I giggled at Harry. 

“You look just as beautiful as you did walking down the aisle,” he murmured before softly pressing his mouth to mine. I blushed at the PDA and, when we pulled away, realized that the woman was holding up a box full of gold jewelry. 

After assessing the items, the woman who had helped me plucked a rather large gold, dangling piece with red gemstones in it from the box, then dipped her finger into what looked like yellow paste. She applied the sticky yellow substance to my forehead before pressing the gold piece to it. “It’s a bindi,” she explained. “It’s to activate the Ajna Chakra – the third eye. Once the chakra is activated, you are able to overcome your ego, and ascend to a higher plane of spirituality.” The woman touched her hands together, palm-to-palm, before bowing to us. “ _Namaste._ The highest light in me sees the highest light in you.” 

_I’m sorry it took me so long out here,_  
_for me to find my way back home._  
_I didn’t have a reason_  
_for when I stopped believing,_  
_but I needed you to know_  
_that I’m right where I belong._

The night before we left Mumbai for Goa, Harry and I decided to try one of the best restaurants in India, called Indego. Before the first official engagement we’d gone on, he’d wondered how much of his life was going to be spent waiting for me to get ready once we were married. The clock started running that night in our Mumbai hotel room as I applied my make up, but Harry kept distracting me by coming up behind me, squeezing my bottom, or kissing my neck. “You’re the one who keeps whining about me taking too long,” I pointed out. 

“Well, yeah, but I’d wait a little longer for _this_ ,” he shrugged. 

I rolled my eyes, turned around, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and gave him a kiss that was half-laughter. “You’re too cute, Wales. Too freaking cute.” 

He pulled away and pretended to think. “I believe it’s Sussex now.” 

“Oh _yeah_ ,” I slowly agreed, my face breaking out into a huge, dorky smile. I was pretty sure I was never, ever going to get sick of hearing that. “Well in that case, you’re too cute, _Sussex_.” 

“And you’re incredibly sexy, Mrs. Sussex.” 

Butterflies started tickling the inside of my stomach and I blushed before pressing my lips to his, just a little harder. “Okay…but we have to be quick about it to make our reservation.” 

An hour later, my hair just slightly messier than it had been before, we exited our blacked-out car in front of the restaurant. As soon as we were climbing up the steps to the front doors, it seemed like we were immediately swarmed by paparazzi. The shutters were so loud from the huge cluster of photographers that I had to shout over them. “I thought they weren’t going to bother us!” 

Harry swore under his breath. “We made the deal with British press, this must be the Indians. Dammit.” He took my hand and tried to quickly pull us into the restaurant, but all of a sudden we heard the photographers start shouting…but not at us. 

“Aamir! Aamir Kahn!” 

Confused, I looked around. The paparazzi were surrounding an Indian man and his wife. I instantly recognized him from movie posters that were hanging all over the city. It was Aamir Kahn, a famous Bollywood actor. Blushing, I looked to Harry, who was also sheepishly flushed. I giggled a little, covering my hand with my mouth. The press wasn’t there for us after all. It was a nice change. 

_If all we are_  
_is where we’ve been,_  
_then I know where I want to be._

By the time we got to Goa, I was absolutely exhausted, and totally ready for some R &R. Looking around, you would never know that we were even still in India. It looked like a Caribbean resort. We were in our very own villa, completely and totally alone. Unlike the other cities we’d been in, Goa was silent. The only sound was the clear, blue ocean washing up on the shore. It was gorgeous in the day, and I lay out baking in the sun. At night, the moon hung high and silver over the water. It was absolutely breathtaking. “Good choice, Spice,” I reached out for Harry’s hand one day, holding a cold drink and looking up from my Kindle. 

“No need to tell me what I already know, Fox,” he smirked. 

On the last day of our honeymoon, I decided that it was time to give Harry his wedding present. “I kind of have a surprise for you,” I told him, pulling the package out of my suitcase. 

Harry looked up from where he was re-packing his to prepare for the long flight home. “Oh God. What is it?” 

“No need to look so terrified,” I laughed, although I was a little nervous about it… 

Laughing, Harry sat on the bed. “Right. I’m ready.” 

_No matter how far_  
_I drift again,_  
_you keep the light on for me._

With shaking hands, I passed him the package wrapped in brown parcel paper, tied together with a white, lace bow. He raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling the ends of the bow, sliding his index finger under one of the folds, and unfastening the tape. His eyebrows furrowed and it felt like he took forever as he opened the thick cover. My heart was racing as he stared down at the first page, in which I’d stuck a picture of his mother, holding a tiny, infant Harry bundled in a blue blanket, kissing his forehead as he reached up to her. His mouth was hanging open, just a little, as he turned the page to reveal the second picture – of her holding him upside down by his ankles as he very obviously roared with laughter. He said nothing, just swallowed hard as he turned the page, staring down at the third picture of his mother helping him blow out the candles on his seventh birthday cake, which looked like any other birthday cake at a kids party. The next pages were more pictures from the envelope – the one from us after my performance, at Will and Kate’s Kensington apartment, the one in front of Boots, and, finally, one of us kissing on the balcony. 

Finally, he rasped out, “My pictures. From my drawer.” 

Sitting down next to him, I rushed out, “I found them during your first deployment. I wasn’t snooping, really, I was just looking through your sweater drawer and I found it.” Harry just kept staring, slack jawed at the album. “Look, if you don’t like it, we can just take them out and put them back. It’ll be like it never happened.” Nothing. “Harry,” I stammered out, tears springing to my eyes and dread pulling at my stomach. “Please say something.” 

Harry closed the album and gingerly placed it beside him, looking straight ahead. He blinked a couple of times, his rust-colored eyelashes fluttering together for a minute. After a while, he cleared his throat, licked his lips, and turned to me. There was one tear tumbling down his cheek. He swallowed and shook his head, then cleared his throat. “It’s perfect.” It was my turn to be speechless. “It’s perfect, Roxy,” he repeated. Placing his palms on the sides of my face, he told me, “You’ll never know how much that means to me, how much _you_ mean to me.“ My heart tripped when he kissed me, just like it had that first time we’d kissed in Kensington Palace ten years ago. This one was every bit as thrilling, every bit as exciting, just like every kiss we’d ever shared, and every kiss we’d ever share. 

__Out here,__  
_for me to find my way back home._  
_I didn’t have a reason_  
_for when I stopped believing,_  
_but I needed you to know_  
_that I’m right where I’m belong now._

__

Hours later, after we’d tried again to make a little prince or princess of Sussex (like we’d been doing pretty much the whole time that we weren’t outside of our hotel room), I draped my body around Harry’s, my arm wrapped around his chest, my legs tangled with his. I sighed contentedly, resting my head on his chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. Lifting my head, I placed my chin on my hand and looked up at him. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he smiled down at me. It was a smile I’d seen so many times before, but each time it made my heart swell. Each time it made me want to cry, because I’d never thought my whole life that anyone would ever look at me like that. 

“Let’s go home.” 

Harry leaned down, kissed my forehead, and nodded. “Let’s go home,” he sighed in agreement before adding, “Mrs. Sussex.” 

_With you,_  
_so I’ll stay quiet in your arms._  
_Words didn’t have the meaning,_  
_there’s no use in repeating,_  
_but I needed you to know_  
_that I’m right where I belong._


	138. James William, Lexi, and Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter begins taking place two years after the ending of the last, and ends six years after the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

_It has been confirmed by Saint James’ Palace today that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex are expecting their first child. After two years of intense public scrutiny and speculation, Prince Harry and Roxy DeLaSearle have finally put royal watchers out of their misery. The announcement comes three months after the couple’s return from a foreign tour in Brazil, and the timing is no coincidence. “They had their two year anniversary right when they got back from Brazil, and I think they wanted a solid couple of years to themselves first,” a palace insider tells us. Another source close to the couple confirms, “I think they wanted to get started by the time she was thirty. They want a lot of kids, so it was important to get started soon.” The Duke and Duchess also had to take immunization vaccines before their trip to South America. Dr. Stephen Landers (who has not treated the couple) told us, “Those kinds of immunizations take a while to leave the bloodstream, and it is not advised to try and conceive while you’re on them.” If our timing is correct, Harry and Roxy wasted no time in getting started when they got back!_

***

_Royal baby bump watch is officially on again in London as the Duke and Duchess of Sussex attended a polo fundraiser this weekend. Prince Harry played against Prince William as the Duchesses of Cambridge and Sussex chatted on the sidelines. “Catherine couldn’t be happier for them. She’s wanted cousins for George and Philip for a long time now,” says an inside source. “She’s just delighted that the new baby and Philip will only be two years apart. Roxy’s always beenreally worried about being compared to Kate, and she’s worried about putting on too much weight, so I think she’s going to really look to Kate for help with her fashion during her pregnancy.” At the polo match, the Duchess of Sussex was seen wearing a BCBG wrap dress and sandals, a change from her usual attire to polo games. She was seen in more familiar clothes – dark wash denim and a t-shirt – the next day, shopping on the high street with her mother, Marci._

*** 

_Reporters have been lined up for days outside of the Lindo Wing of St. Mary’s hospital and today they were finally rewarded. Unlike the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince Harry and Roxanna used the traditional method of notifying the public of the birth using the easel outside of Buckingham Palace. The Duchess of Sussex was safely delivered of a son at 9:17pm. Both mother and baby are doing well._

***

_The Duke and Duchess of Sussex, and the new Prince of Sussex had plenty of visitors today. First to stop by was the Duchess’s mother, Marci DeLaSearle, who visited her new grandson in hospital alone. Upon her departure, she stopped briefly to chat with reporters. “He’s adorable. I think you’ll know immediately who he looks like when you see him,” she hinted._

_Next to arrive were the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall. They left hospital in seemingly jolly spirits. “Yes, lots of boys,” Prince Charles noted. “Lots of boys in the family now.” He expressed sympathy for his niece Zara Tindall’s daughter, stating, “Poor Mia. She’ll be very well protected, I’m afraid.” When asked whom the baby most resembled, mother or father, the Prince assured the press that they’d be able to tell as soon as they saw him._

_The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were also in attendance, hand in hand with Prince George and Prince Philip. “The boys are terribly excited to have a new cousin,” the Duchess of Cambridge told reporters. “He’s so sweet, they’re both completely over the moon excited about it. It’s very familiar, all of the memories come running back.”_

_“I’ve made sure Harry knows how to change nappies,” the Duke of Cambridge assured. When asked if they knew the name of the new prince, they claimed to have no idea._

_The crowd outside of the Lindo Wing was not left waiting long, when, soon after, the Duke and Duchess emerged onto the steps, which had previously seen the Duchess of Cambridge and the late Princess Diana. The Duchess of Sussex started to visibly tear up as she spoke to the press. “I’m sorry, it’s been an emotional couple of days.”_

_“Yes, exhausting as well. He’s quite loud,” Prince Harry agreed._

_The couple appeared on the steps holding a baby boy wrapped in a white blanket. The Duchess was wearing a pale blue maternity dress by Isabella Oliver. When asked who the baby takes after, the Duke of Sussex proudly showed him off, revealing that the baby had inherited his ginger hair. “He’s got my hair, for sure!”_

_“I’m so happy about that,” the Duchess lovingly noted as the Prince handed over the baby to her. “I wanted a little ginger baby.”_

_It was revealed that the Duke had, in fact, changed a nappy already, as Prince William had previously predicted. “Yes, I’ve changed all the nappies so far. She did all the hard work, really, so I thought it was the least I could do.”_

_The Duke and Duchess left hospital later, but not after Prince Harry proudly displayed how well he was able to put in the car seat. They drove away from hospital and were headed to Buckingham Palace to introduce the little prince to the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, who continues to be in good health despite a trip to hospital earlier this month. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are assumed to stay at Kensington Palace, with the Duke’s next scheduled solo appearance in two weeks._

***

_After several months of failing health, it has been reported by the Palace that the Duke of Edinburgh has died. He passed away peacefully in his sleep at Buckingham Palace. Prince Philip’s health had been declining for some time, and had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which quickly spread to his bones. Deciding not to undergo any long and often painful methods of treatment, the Duke chose to live out his remaining months with his family._

_The state funeral will be held at Westminster Abbey and is expected to be attended by all members of the Royal Family._

***

_Piers Morgan reporting for CNN with breaking news out of London today. It has been confirmed_ again _by Saint James' Palace that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex are expecting their second child. The new prince or princess is expected at the end of the year or the beginning of next, suggesting that the Duchess is already past the first trimester. The new arrival will be younger sibling to the couple’s first son, Prince James William of Sussex, who will be two-years-old in May._

***

_The official announcement has been made – this time it’s a girl for the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. It was announced yesterday evening around 6:00pm that the Duchess had been safely delivered of a daughter at 3:24pm. The Duchess’s mother, Marci DeLaSearle, was seen taking in Prince James William to greet his new sister that evening. “Another girl, finally,” Marci DeLaSearle told reporters outside the hospital. “There’s so many boys in this family! We were hoping for a girl.” When asked if the little princess resembled her older brother, Miss DeLaSearle assured us that she would be revealed to the public shortly. When the Duke and Duchess finally showed her off to the world, the Duke of Sussex noted, “I think she’ll get her mother’s looks, luckily for her.”_

***

_Breaking news out of London – Her Majesty the Queen has been rushed to hospital after suffering what appears to be a minor stroke at Windsor Castle. It is to be understood that her condition, while critical, is not life-threatening and a full recovery is expected._

***

_In groundbreaking news from the royal family, the Palace has announced that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will be slowly retiring from public life, with the intention to pass her royal duties down to the Prince of Wales. The announcement is not a shock, and comes following the minor stroke suffered earlier last month. She is expected to slowly hand over these duties to Prince Charles before retiring from all official events._

***

_It has been confirmed that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex are expecting their third child. The welcome news comes after an exciting and well-documented tour of the Caribbean, which increased the couple’s already high popularity. They were joined on the tour by Prince James William and Princess Alexandra. During a family photo call, it was revealed that Princess Alexandra is known as Lexi by her parents and older brother. The Duchess was already suspected to be pregnant, and the baby is expected in the early spring, suggesting that she is already about half way through her pregnancy. A statement from the Palace reads, “The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are happily expecting the arrival of their third child. Prince James William and Princess Alexandra couldn’t be happier and are looking forward to having a new brother or sister.”_

***

_Prince Henry Charles Albert David II of Sussex was welcomed into the world on Thursday morning. The arrival of the third Sussex child is good news in an otherwise dreary week for the royals. The Queen was again taken to hospital, this time with an unspecified gastro-intestinal disorder. Her Majesty has recently stepped out of the public eye, almost completely handing her official duties over to the Prince of Wales. “It’s nice to have some good news,” the Duke of Cambridge was quoted as saying after his brief visit to hospital to meet his second nephew._

_The Duke and Duchess of Sussex left hospital the next day and, like Prince James William and Princess Lexi, Prince Henry was taken to meet Her Majesty the Queen. “He’s a bright spot right now,” the Duke of Sussex told reporters right before leaving. “He’s a ray of light, and we need some good news.” The Duke won’t have long, however, to enjoy his new ray of light. Since Her Majesty’s withdrawal from public life, all members of the royal family have taken on more patronages and are busier than ever. The Duchess is expected to make her first public appearance in as little as six weeks. There is also expected to be no change to their tour of America, to take place at the end of the summer._


	139. My Litter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“Ma! Do you have James William?” I called from where a makeup artist was patting eye shadow onto my lids. My mom was in the living room and I was in the downstairs bathroom, which was pretty much used exclusively for me to get ready.

“No, I’ve only got the baby out here!” she called back.

Swearing under my breath, I held my hand out and an aide put my phone in it. I paged upstairs to James William’s room, hoping to find him there with Daphne, the nanny. “Daph, do you have JDubbs?”

“He’s right here.”

“Is he dressed?”

“He’s ready to go.”

“Okay, can you bring him down to Harry?”

“Sure thing.”

I hung up the phone before looking wildly around the room for my next child. Lexi was opening tubes of lipstick, which could get dangerous. She would either end up looking like the Joker, or eating it…or both. I reached over and took it out of her hands. “Lexi, Mummy said no touching.” 

“I want to wear lipstick like Mummy,” Lexi pouted at me.

“Not today, Lexi.” 

“ _Why_ , Mummy?” she whined.

“I said no, Alexandra.” As usual when she heard the word “no,“ Lexi’s face slowly crumbled. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes grew wide with tears. Oh God…we did _not_ have time for a fit right now. “Alexandra Victoria, do not start crying or else you’ll stay home with Mum Mum and Henry,” I warned her.

Well, that totally backfired. Lexi burst into tears, her sweet, tiny face turning bright red. “No, Mummy! I want to go!” she wailed, jumping up and down.

“Then you have to stop crying,” I insisted, feeling like the biggest bitch on the face of the earth. She was a three-year-old girl, she just wanted to wear some freaking lipstick. 

Lexi, of course, did not stop crying, and now I was really screwed, because if she didn’t come with us, I was a liar and an overprotective mother and if she _did_ come, I was clearly a bad mother because I was letting my child pitch a fit in public, as if I had any say in the matter. I swore under my breath, facing the internal struggle of any parent. If I gave in and let her put on the lipstick, then there was no discipline. I couldn’t let her _wear_ the lipstick, of course, because I didn’t want her looking like a floozy on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. Although I was sure that the people who didn’t like me (a group, by the way, which seemed to have grown exponentially after Harry and I had gotten married) would just _love_ if Lexi showed up in a full face of make up, like I was one of those scary mothers who put their daughters in those creepy pageants. After six years and three children, you’d think I’d be better at this…

Just as I was about to give in and let her wear the damn lipstick, Harry came into the room, James William by his side looking _very_ important in his tiny suit. Harry was dressed in his Blues  & Royals uniform, looking incredibly sexy as usual. After eight years of marriage and three pregnancies, he still gave me butterflies. James was in a navy suit with a little red tie. “James William, come here and give your mummy a hug.”

James made his way through the hair stylists and make up artists, a skill he’d honed over the years, so that he could hop up on my lap. I wrapped my arms around him and smacked a kiss on his cheek while my hair stylists affixed my fascinator. When I put him back down on the floor, James William wiped away the pink kiss mark I’d left on his face. “Yuck, Mummy!”

“Lexi, why are you crying?” Harry asked.

Lexi ran over to him and wrapped her arms around his leg, still sobbing. Harry squatted down to her level and repeated his question. When Lexi just kept crying, I answered, “Because Mummy told you no lipstick, didn’t she?” Sobbing and hiccupping, Lexi nodded. “And you still played with the lipsticks, didn’t you?” Another sob-nod. “And then I said that if you don’t stop crying, you have to stay here with Mum Mum and Henry.”

Harry looked down at Lexi and ran his fingers through her soft, dark curls. “Do you want to stay with Mum Mum and Henry?” he asked gently. Lexi shook her head. “Then you need to listen to Mummy and stop crying.”

And with that, Lexi sniffled and went back to being an adorable, well-behaved three-year-old. I let out a frustrated sigh and shook my head at Harry. The kids were _constantly_ obeying him after totally defying me. He shrugged before instructing Lexi, “Go give Mummy a hug and tell her you’re sorry.”

Lexi jogged back over to me and held her arms out. I reached down and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“Thank you, Lexi.”

“I love you, Mummy.”

“I love you, too, love bug.”

“Okay, ready,” one of the stylists told me.

I thanked her before getting out of the chair and holding my arms out. Ava rushed up behind me and slipped my grey jacket on. Ava had gone from dressing me to dressing my two children as well, and I highly suspected she’d be taking care of Henry when he was old enough. “Thanks Ava.”

“No problem,” she assured me, handing me two diamond earrings in the shape of starbursts. Then, giving me a very scrutinizing once-over, she declared, “I have the best job in the world.”

“Oh yeah? You think so? Even after that time Lexi spilled grape juice on the dress at Sarah’s christening?” Sarah was Harry’s cousin Beatrice’s daughter. Bea had gotten married to her long-time boyfriend, David Clark, right after Lexi was born. They’d gotten pregnant almost immediately, and last year at the christening, Lexi had squeezed a juice box all down the front of her custom-made light pink dress. Ava had to leave the room so we wouldn’t hear her screaming.

“Yes, even after that,” Ava assured me before leaning down to Lexi. “No grape juice today, okay Lex?”

Lexi giggled and nodded. Harry picked her up and we headed out of the huge bathroom to join my mom in the kitchen, where she was holding Henry and giving him a bottle. My heart gave a deep wrench. _I_ should be the one to give him his morning feeding. He was too young to be left at home; I _never_ would have left James William home when he was that young. I leaned down and gave him a kiss on his dark, baby-fine hair. “I love you, baby boy.” Henry may be the youngest, and the only actual baby, but I still referred to all of my kids that way.

Henry didn’t even bat an eye as he kept sucking on the bottle. “Okay Ma, we should be back by six at the latest. If you need anything, Daphne and the pediatrician's numbers are on the fridge. I pumped this morning so there's more bottles in there, too. And if you run out of diapers - ”

“Roxy,” she raised her eyebrows and gave me a patient smile. “I have done this before, you know.” When I gave her a guilty look, she assured me, "It’s _fine_. He’ll be fine.”

“Ugh…okay. Thanks Ma.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek before holding my hand out for James William to take. We got into the car and left for St. James’s Palace. From there we’d take a landau or some other carriage to Buckingham, via the Mall. As usual, the Sussex family was running about ten minutes late.

My knee bounced up and down as I checked my watch, anxious about holding everyone up. The Queen was not a fan of tardiness, and ever since Prince Charles had been stepping up in her place, he ran an even tighter ship. While I was biting my thumbnail, Harry reminded the kids of what we were doing. “Do you two remember where we’re going today?”

Lexi’s hand shot up in the air. “Ooh! I know!”

“What is it, Lex?”

“Trooping the Colour!” she answered.

Harry beamed at her. “Very good. And what is that?”

“It’s a parade for Gan Gan’s birthday,” James William answered, using the name all of the great-grandchildren called the Queen. Harry and his cousins had all called the Queen Mother that when they were little.  
Harry reached forward and ruffled the ginger hair his son had inherited from him. “Good job, JDubbs. You two are so smart. How’d you get so smart?”

“At school, Daddy,” Lexi giggled.

“And why does Gan Gan get her own parade?” Harry asked.

“Because she’s the Queen,” James William grinned. The kids thought that was pretty cool, although I wasn’t sure if they knew it was serious or if they just thought it was a game or Disney movie or something. 

“And who gets to be king after Gan Gan?”

“Grandpa.”

“And who gets to be king after Grandpa?”

“Uncle William.”

“And who gets to be king after _that_?” I asked with a smirk. The kids looked up at me, blinking their wide eyes, confused. Laughing, I told them, “Cousin Georgie.”

James William considered this for a moment. “Mummy, when Georgie’s king, do I get his hiding spots?”

Blinking, I shook my head. “What?”

“Georgie always takes the good hiding spots when we play hide and seek. Can I have them when he’s king?”

Laughing, I pointed out, “I’m sure Georgie will be very busy when he’s king, so he’ll probably be fine with you taking his hiding spots.”

By the time we got to Saint James’s, we hardly had time to say hi to the rest of the family before we were shuffled into an open-topped landau. “Mummy, can I go with Georgie and Philip?” James William asked. His entire life he'd been trying to keep up with his older cousins. They were good about letting him tag along, plus he was their constant scapegoat when they were up to no good...which was often. 

“No lovey, you have to stay with us.”

“But Mummy – “

“He can come with us!” Kate called from where she and the boys were getting into their own carriage.

“But you have Granny C,” I reminded her, referring to Camilla.

“We’ll swap!”

“We can’t swap!” I insisted. Camilla had to go with Kate and the boys, because Charles and William, as the heirs, led the horse guards’ parade. It was the order of things. “James, you’re coming with Mummy and Daddy. You’ll see the boys back at Buckingham.”

“Aw, _nuts_!” he snapped his fingers.

Laughing at that phrase coming out of a child, I took Harry’s hand and he helped me into the carriage, then reached down to help James William and Lexi. “I want to sit next to Daddy!” James William immediately demanded.

“Okay, fine, just sit down!” When we finally pulled away from the palace, I let out a deep sigh. All of my children were accounted for and in their proper places, no one was pitching a fit, and no one was bleeding. Okay, good. Onto the next thing. 

Picking up where my thought left off, Harry leaned forward. “James, Lexi, do we stand up while the carriage is moving?” Our children shook their heads in unison, serious expressions on their faces. “What do we do?”

“Wave to our friends!” James William answered.

“Exactly. Okay, say hi! Hi friends!” I demonstrated to them, waving at the crowd around the Mall. The kids giggled and waved, following our lead like a miniature Harry and Roxy were sitting with us. My heart warmed as I watched James William wave next to his father. I scooped Lexi up and kissed the top of her head, managing to do this and still wave to the on-lookers. Being a mother had taught me to multi-task, among other things.

***

After the horse guards’ parade, we met up back at Buckingham Palace to head out to the balcony for the flyover. Harry’s grandmother, looking even more frail since the last time I’d seen her, stood in the middle. Prince Philip had passed right after James William was born, and every summer it still seemed like there was an empty space on the balcony. Harry placed a supportive hand on the small of my back as we all shuffled into view. From his spot next to me, Prince Charles muttered, “It sure is getting crowded up here.”  
I rolled my eyes with a smirk. “Most of them are _your_ grandchildren, don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

He chuckled. “I cannot lie, my sweet Roxanna," he used the term of endearment he'd been using for me since I was twenty. The balcony had gotten more crowded over the years with grandchildren and great-grandchildren and newly acquired inlaws. The Phillipses, the Tindalls, Princess Anne and Timothy Laurence, Prince Charles, Camilla, the Cambridges, us, the Yorks (which now included two spouses and one baby (soon to be two, thanks to Eugenie and Jake Warren who had finally gotten together after years of public speculation) and, in a weird twist after Prince Philip’s death, Fergie), and the Wessexes. So yes, over the years the balcony had gotten a _little_ crowded. Still, Trooping the Colour and Christmas were my absolute favorite times of the year. I loved it when everyone was all together.

“And I think most of them are yours, aren’t they Roxy?” Kate asked, overhearing our conversation.

I held my hands up in self-defense. “Hey, I’ve only got two on here,” I laughed. “I lost one along the way.”

Kate snickered. “Yes, you’ve lost one of your litter.”

“I’ve lost my entire litter. Where are my children?” I idly wondered, peering down the balcony. Harry was holding Lexi, pointing up to where the airplanes were about to fly over. James William was in between George and Philip, trying desperately to look as tall. William was laughing with his sons, who were basically his clones. I sighed, feeling like my heart was full.


	140. The Ninth Week Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

After the fly over, we had a reception and then dinner at Buckingham. While drinks and hors d’oeuvres were passed around, I snuck out into the hall to call my mom and check on the baby. “How is he?”

“He’s fine. He never cries, Roxy.”

“I know,” I smiled. Since James William was my first, at times it had felt like he never stopped crying. When we’d had Lexi, who would whine and scream so bad that we would take her to the doctor, only to be told that she was perfectly fine, I could appreciate the normal amount of noise from James Williiam as a blessing. Maybe it was that he was my third, and right after Lexi so I was used to it, but it seemed like Henry _never_ cried. He whined when he was hungry or needed to be changed, but he very rarely cried. With a pang deep in my chest, I told my mom to give him a kiss for me. I missed my baby…

I hung up and headed back into the reception hall. Camilla spotted me and asked, with a friendly smile and genuine interest, “How’s the baby?”

“He’s good,” I smiled back at her. “He’s so quiet.”

“That’s a blessing,” Camilla insisted, and she was obviously right. The Duchess of Cornwall hadn’t been my biggest fan in the beginning, but the _second_ Harry and I had said our “I dos,” she was right on board, especially after James William was born. Who could still be mean to me after I’d given birth to that adorable little ginger?

“Have you gotten all of you packed?” Camilla asked curiously.

In four days, Harry and I were going on our sixth official tour together, this time to the States. It would be the second with James William and Lexi, and Henry’s first. He wouldn’t be coming on any events with us, like the older two would, but I didn’t want to leave him home, so my mom was coming along to watch him while the rest of us were out on walkabout, although she’d been very clear about her limits. “I’ll come on this one, Roxanna Nicole, and then I’m done. You have a nanny for a reason.” I’d been worried that my mom would feel isolated when she retired and moved to London. I was 100% wrong. She volunteered tutoring children from lower-income families, she joined a book club, she took cooking classes, she joined a support group for divorced single mothers, she got along extremely well with Harry’s aunt Sophie and the two of them had the exact same kind of wine nights that Kate, Pippa, Bianca, and I had (only now we called them Mummy’s Juice nights). They used to be weekly events, but now we were lucky enough if we could see each other once a month. The guys stayed home with the kids and the four of us met up at one of our places. One night, we’d been over at our apartment at KP, when Lexi woke up from a nightmare and we taught her the words to “Wannabe.” Okay, I’d had a few glasses of wine by then. 

Drawing in a deep breath, I nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s all ready to go.”

“And your mother is going with you?”

I nodded again. “Yeah. She made it pretty clear that she was done babysitting after that for a while.”

Camilla chuckled. “I’m sure she loves helping with the children, but she did already raise two of her own.” Oh, yeah, and after years of basically treating my mother like low-class Jersey trash, Camilla was constantly praising her transition from a career-minded single mother to retired grandmother.

Running my fingers through my hair, I admitted, “Having three kids…feels like having a _lot_ more than three kids.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Camilla kindly sympathized.

“I don’t. I make my mom,” I reminded her.

Lexi ran over to me, giggling, and hid behind my legs. “Mummy! Tell Uncle William no!”

“What?”

“He’s chasing us!” she squealed.

William stood a few feet away, looking confused before approaching me. “Hey Roxy. Have you seen Lexi? The Tickle Monster wants a word.”

I nodded slowly. “Oh dear. No, I haven’t seen her, but I’ll let the Tickle Monster know if I do.”

“Right, thanks,” William nodded seriously before heading over to talk to his cousins.

I turned around and grinned down at my baby girl. “Dodged that bullet Lex.” She giggled and held her arms up to me. I picked her up and rested her on my hip. “You want to go say hi to Gan Gan?” Lexi nodded and I kissed her cheek. “Okay, say see ya later Granny C.”

Lexi waved at her. “See ya later, Granny C.”

“Yes, see you later darling,” Camilla gave her a tiny wave back.

I wove our way through the crowd of Windsors to get to the Queen. “Hello Granny,” I greeted her with a curtsey, placing Lexi on the ground and making sure she did the same.

“Hello Catherine,” she smiled up at me. 

My stomach clenched up. “No Granny, it’s me, Roxy.”

Her Majesty shook her head, her eyelids fluttering. “Of course, forgive me. Hello there Alexandra,” she smiled down at her.

“Hi Gan Gan,” Lexi beamed.

“Did you have fun today?”

Lexi nodded and responded the way she’d been taught. “Yes ma’am. I like the pretty colors from the airplanes.”

“They are pretty, aren’t they?”

Lexi nodded with a giggle, and she was about to tell Gan Gan what else she liked about today when William came up behind her, tickling her tummy. “Here comes the tickle monster!”

“No!” Lexi shrieked with delight as William swung her onto his shoulders. I watched him carry her off with a grin. William had always wanted a girl. He made do with Violet, Lexi, and Sarah.

“Hi Granny!” Kate greeted her with a big smile. “How are you?”

Her Majesty sighed. “I’m a bit tired, Catherine.”

“Oh? Do you want me to tell Charles? He can take you back to your room so you can have a lie down,” she offered.

The Queen gave another weary sigh. “No, I’ll be fine on my own.” Then, with a wistful smile, she remembered, “This was the part Philip would help with.” I shot a look at Kate as a Buckingham staff member helped the Queen back to her bedroom.

When she was out of earshot, Kate let out a breath and bit down on her bottom lip. “How’s she been lately?” I asked her.

Running her fingers through her perfect hair, Kate told me, “She’s definitely not getting any better. She keeps telling Charles and William to prepare because she’s ‘ready.’”

This actually made me gasp. Imagining the family without her was absolutely impossible. There was, however, no denying it. She’d already suffered a stroke and had completely retired from royal duties, to the surprise of everyone, including me. To be honest, I didn’t think she’d been the same since Prince Philip had passed away. Watching that was heart-breaking. She seemed so…small without him, like a part of her was missing.

“What’s going on?” Eugenie asked, seeing our worried expressions. She had one hand perched on her belly, the only one of us who was actually pregnant at the moment. There were a couple of pictures taken over the years of Bea and I or Zara and Kate with huge tummies at a family gathering. I loved that.

“It’s Granny,” Kate told her.

Eugenie let out a sigh. “She’s getting worse, isn’t she?”

“Well…she’s not getting better,” I carefully confirmed.

Eugenie shrugged. “I don’t know what I expected. Especially when Grandad died. It’s just…it all seems so impossible without her.” Kate and I, of course, knew exactly what she meant.

Eugenie waddled away after a minute, hand resting on her belly, and I turned back to Kate. “How’s he doing?” I asked, looking over at where Georgie and Philip were desperately trying to convince William to let them have champagne. 

Kate sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. He barely talks to us about it.” It had taken a while for William and Kate to catch on, but eventually they had. There was no other way to put it – George was being bullied at school. He wasn’t even in high school yet, and the kids were already bullying him. It wasn’t even on the internet, or in the media. The press was hands off, and to the general public he was just a kid, not someone to be attacked for anything – he was only 11 years old! The other kids at school, however, didn’t see it that way. William had been popular; bright, good-looking, athletic, heir to the throne. What was not to like? I wasn’t sure why, maybe times were just different, but for whatever reason, the kids at school had turned on George completely. He was all of the things William had been, but for some reason, the kids picked at him like vultures on road kill. They made fun of him for being so tall and lanky, they called him a spoiled rich kid, or, when they got bored of that, they called him a half-breed because his mother was “common.” 

Like any boy that age, George wasn’t very communicative with his parents when he was having a hard time. We knew something was up, because he grew more introverted as he got older, but we figured he was just sensitive like William had been at that age. It wasn’t until the school had actually called his parents that we knew anything was wrong. The Cambridges hadn’t told anyone but Harry and I. “Maybe he’ll talk to you about it,” Kate suggested. To George, Harry and I were the “cool” aunt and uncle (as crazy as that seemed to me when I struggled to keep my eyes open past 9:00pm most nights). It seemed easier for him to open up to us more about a bunch of things – school, girls, his friends. He had fun with us; we were a safe place. But so far, we hadn’t heard anything about it. My heart broke to think of these cruel children poking fun at him, especially since I knew George had always been so smart, and so able to pick up on the moods of others. That was probably the reason they went after him, because they knew he was so vulnerable to it. 

Since I didn’t have anything to say to make Kate feel better about navigating her child through something neither of us knew anything about, I tried to assure her, “It’s just a phase. They’ll grow out of it.” I did think it was true. Once Georgie was at Eton, there would be no more of this bullshit. It simply wasn’t done at Eton, the faculty would never stand for it. 

“Not fast enough,” Kate muttered under her breath, and I couldn’t disagree.

***

As early as we could without seeming rude, Harry and I made our exit and went back to KP. Henry was awake, on his back on a playmat, reaching for the toys that hung from the arch above him. “Hello baby,” I smiled down at him, scooping him up. He gurgled as I held him to my chest so that his head was resting on my shoulder. 

Ava winced. “Roxy, can you at least put a towel down so we can avoid another spit up incident?”

Okay, so I _may_ have picked up James William after the Christmas service at Sandringham and he _may_ have puked all over my beautiful, custom-made coat. In my defense, I was still in my rookie season of being a mother. 

“I’ll take him,” Harry volunteered. “You go change.”

“Okay, thanks.” I thanked my mom for watching the baby (and tried to give her some cash in exchange, which she refused, as usual) before heading up to our room. Once I was in maternity yoga pants and a button down, I met Harry back downstairs. “Can you take them for a bath while I feed him?”

“Of course,” he grinned at me. Bath time was the _best_ time with the kids. He leaned down for a kiss and I obliged, beaming back up at him. “Love you, Fox.”

“Love you, too, Spice.” Yes, we _still_ used those nicknames for each other. There were other couples who felt a lack of intimacy after children, or downright apathy in their marriage after so many years, but there were still so many sweet moments for Harry and I. He wrapped an arm around my waist protectively on official appearances, he brought me daffodils just because, and there was _nothing_ sexier on the planet than watching him be a good father.

Once Henry was fed and completely knocked out (what infant slept through the night? He was a miracle.), I went upstairs, where Harry had gotten the kids into pajamas. “I want Mummy to read to me!” James William declared.

“Okay, no need to shout,” I gestured to the sleeping baby in my arms. “Mummy’s going to put Henry down and I’ll be right there. Go pick out a book.”

James William nodded, taking htese instructions quite seriously, and turned on his heel to go accomplish this task. Harry held his hand out to Lexi. “Right. Come on then, Lex. What book do you want to read tonight?”

“ _Angelina Ballerina_!”

Harry groaned. “But we read _Angelina Ballerina_ last night,” he reminded her. 

Lexi giggled and, jumping up and down, insisted, “Again!”

“That’s my girl,” I winked at her as she and Harry headed down the hall. I placed the baby in the bassinette in our room, turned on the monitor, and went back out into James William’s room. The floor was littered with tiny toy soldiers, tanks, and airplanes, mixed in with lions, giraffes, and elephants. James was a perfect combination of William and Harry. We’d ended up using his two first names on the regular mostly because he was so much like William that it just naturally fit. He had Harry’s hair and William’s sensitivity; Harry’s love of the army and William’s love of Africa. He was constantly begging to tag along on Harry’s military engagements and trips to Lesotho or other African countries. Harry went about once a year now, but I hadn’t been since we had James William. Call me crazy, but I didn’t want to lug three kids around Africa. Plus, as it turned out, the reconciliation of impoverished countries with the fact that we literally lived in a palace was a difficult thing to try and explain to a child. James William was getting older now, though, so Harry and I had discussed the possibility of letting him join his father on the next trip.

I wasn’t surprised to find him sitting on his bed, waiting for me with a Babar book. “Babar tonight JDubbs?” He beamed at me and nodded. I smiled down at him, climbing onto his bed, wrapping my arms around him, and opening the book. This last step was unnecessary, since I practically had the whole thing memorized, as Harry did with _Angelina Ballerina_. We could both recite a handful of Dr. Seuss books, too. I read to James William, murmuring into his ginger hair, inhaling the scent of the herbal organic shampoo we used on the kids. There was no better feeling in the world than your child nestled into the crook of your arm, after a bath, right before bedtime. James William was getting older now, though, and pretty soon he’d be too old for nestles and cuddles. Dreading this day that was coming up way too fast, I’d been able to talk Harry into one more baby. We’d originally planned on a whole soccer team of kids, but after James and Lexi we’d realized that two was probably enough. It had taken some convincing to talk him into a third. Actually…he’d still been mulling over the idea when I just _happened_ to go off my birth control…

One Babar had been crowned the King of the Elephants, I kissed the top of James William's head and closed the book. “Okay JDubbs, lights out."   
James William wrapped his arms around my neck. “Goodnight Mummy. I love you.”

“Goodnight, lovey. I love you, too.” I turned his lights off and shut the door behind me with a soft click. When I went back into our bedroom, Harry was changing into a pair of pinstriped pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Have I told you lately how proud I am that you’re my baby daddy?”

“Not lately,” he answered with a smirk.

I stood on my tip toes and gave him a peck on the mouth. “Well I am.”

He ran his hands down my arms and down to my waist before frowning. “Are you wearing maternity pants?”

“Hey! Until you have to carry another human being around for nine months and grow to the size of the Goodyear blimp, no judging!”

Harry laughed and obeyed before getting into bed. I changed into a nightgown ( _non_ -maternity) and joined him. “Can you believe how many of us there were up there today?’

“No,” Harry chuckled, "but it was a _lot_.”

“I know. It’s like the Royal Baby Boom.”

He laughed and agreed with me. I bit down on my bottom lip before delicately asking, ”Did you talk to your dad about your grandmother today?”

Harry nodded slowly. “It’s odd. I don’t know what I thought,” he repeated Eugenie’s sentiment earlier today. “It’s not like she can live forever, especially not after Grandad. It was like…a light went out or something.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I nodded.

Frowning, Harry asked, “What would you do if I died?”

“ _What_?”

“If I died, what do you think you’d do?”

“Is there something I should know?”

Harry nudged me with his elbow. “Come on. Just think about it.”

I was still totally confused as to why he was asking me this, but whatever. In the course of our relationship, it definitely wasn't even close to being the strangest thing he'd ever asked me. Thinking about my answer, I finally remembered, “Well…when you were missing in Afghanistan, I kind of just thought that if you were dead, I would die. Not that I’d kill myself or anything,” I explained. “I’d just…stop living.” The awful memory made me shiver. “But it’s different now. We’ve got the kids.”

“Right,” he nodded, brow furrowed.

“Okay, can we talk about something less morbid now?”

“Yes, please.”

Grinning at him, I revealed, “Good, because I have good news.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm.” I waited, building up the anticipation. “It’s the ninth week.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re so weird, Fox.” Doctors usually gave women who had recently given birth the green light for sex after the sixth week. For some reason, I’d always felt incredibly insecure about that. Six weeks seemed _way_ to fast. Harry just _loved_ my weird little rule, clearly. Actually, he probably didn’t even notice after Lexi, as we were both so sleep deprived.

“Sorry I don’t want to have sex right after I push a baby out my hoo-ha.”

Harry burst into laughter. “Your hoo-ha?”

Giggling, I admitted, “That’s what I told Lexi to call it.” I had told her this ridiculous euphemism because it was hilarious, and Harry and I would laugh at her every time she said it. She was too little to understand that we were laughing _at_ her, so it was harmless. Okay, so we _may_ have done things like that to our kids all the time. When James William was three, he thought that "thumbs up" was with your index finger, and Harry and I never corrected him because it made us laugh. Georgie and Philip hadn't wasted any time before making fun of him for it, though, and he was all grown out of it.

“Who let us have children?” he asked, still laughing.

“I don’t know,” I shook my head, "but they’re damn cute.”

“They are,” he agreed. “Thank you for them, Mrs. Sussex.” 

I felt guilty admitting it, even to myself, but the truth was that there were a lot of times when I was exhausted from reading about seven books to James William before he fell asleep, and dealing with another one of Lexi’s raging fits, and nursing Henry, and I knew I had to be up early the next morning for one engagement or another, and the whole romantic, sex thing sort of…fell off. Not tonight, though. Even though I _was_ exhausted from the effort it took this morning merely to get the kids out the door, and even though I had a particularly emotionally taxing event the next morning, at the end of which I had to immediately come home and finalize everything for the tour, there was no way that I was going to pass up this opportunity to take full advantage of my ninth-week rule, and Harry didn’t complain, either.


	141. The Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

When we'd first gotten engaged and then married, both Harry and I went on official events, whatever they were – whether they were for one of his patronages, mine, or both of ours together. Now, with three kids, we preferred to do them alone. Yes, we had a nanny, but I had no intention of being the kind of mother who just chucked the kids with the babysitter and left to take yoga classes or go to Starbucks or shop. Not to mention that with the addition of Henry, we needed Daphne to stick around whether one of us was there or not. (Yes, Daphne was very pretty and no, I didn't care, because she was one of those magical Mary Poppins nannies who could make my kids laugh as loud as I'd ever heard, but could stop their temper tantrums and misbehaving with one, well-timed withering look. So no, I didn't care if I had to go out on an engagement and leave Harry home with her and the kids. Oh, and also he loved me and would never cheat on me.) Of course, one of us being home with the kids wasn’t always possible, and we also took full advantage of evening events to do together, when the kids were in bed anyway and we got to talk to other adults, and wear clothes that weren’t covered in spit up.

My last engagement alone before we left for our tour of the States was at a clinic called the Priory Group. It had been one of my first patronages, and over the years I’d taken on more, but it was one of the ones I most enjoyed. Not that I liked people being addicted to drugs, but I cared deeply about them, and I wanted them to know that. 

When I got there, I was greeted by the director and several consultants. I’d met most of them before, so it wasn't intimidating like it had been in the beginning. “Lovely to see you again, Your Royal Highness.”

“Thank you. I’m just going to go shake a few hands before we go in, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

Oh my God, I _hated_ the “ma’am.” That’s just how it worked. The first time, I was “Your Royal Highness,” and any time after that, I was “ma’am.” It was the _worst_ , and made feel about 80 tears old. Forcing out a smile at her, I made my way over to where there was a crowd of people waiting behind barriers to shake my hand or really just catch a glimpse. “Hello,” I smiled at a woman probably only a few years younger than me before moving down the line. “Lovely to meet you. Hello.”

“How’s Prince Henry?”

At first, I’d always thought it was weird when people asked me questions like this, like they were my friends inquiring about my personal life. Now I didn’t even blink. “He’s doing very well, thank you. He never cries!” People loved small details like this. I kept going down the line, handing bouquets of flowers to Ava, who pretty much doubled as my personal assistant…which she constantly complained about.

“ _Why_ can’t you just get someone else to do it?”

“Because I don’t want to bring in someone new who I don’t trust. And I know _exactly_ how much you get paid, so don’t even start.”

She couldn’t disagree with me there. When she couldn’t carry all of the gifts herself (flowers, cards, teddies for Henry), she passed them along to my RPO, Izzy. She’d joined me right after our engagement announcement, and from what I could tell she’d forfeited her chance at any sort of personal life to make sure no one tried to assassinate me. So that was a thing.

“How are the other children getting on?”

“They love him. Lexi was so excited to be a big sister.” When Henry was born, Harry had brought the kids in to meet their new little brother. Lexi had completely bypassed me and marched over to the basinet before asking, “Can I hold him?”

I spent more time than I probably should have shaking hands and greeting people lined up outside. I was sort of notorious for running late at my events, but I just couldn’t ever seem to leave on time, especially in places like the Priory Group. What was I supposed to say? “Hey, I know you’re suffering from a disease that you have a very likely chance of never recovering from, but I have to go.” I’d rather be criticized for my poor timing than my insensitivity. 

Eventually, I made it inside, meeting more counselors who showed me some things that had changed since my last visit. Unfortunately, the things that hadn’t changed were most of the patients. It had only been a few months since my last event here, but I always liked to see fresh faces. It meant that the Group felt as though the other patients were ready to move on. There had been, however, more than one report of a patient going back out into the world, only to relapse and return to Priory, or worse, end up overdosing. On these occasions, I was always sure to send a letter of condolence to the family of the deceased, and tried not to feel the overwhelming sense of guilt that always seemed to hit me when this happened.

The possibility of me getting out of here on time was slim to none, but something that I _did_ have to be punctual about was my speech. My arrival and statement were on a pretty set schedule because of the press that were around for them, and if I didn’t have anywhere to be afterwards, no one really cared how long I stayed. I was talking to a patient who would soon be discharged (“That’s wonderful to hear! Congratulations!”), when Ava cleared her throat and held my clutch out to me. This meant that I had to get started on my statement. I excused myself before standing behind a podium normally used for recovery stories at sobriety meetings.

“Good afternoon, and thank you for having me. It has been an honor to be a patron of the Priory Group for all of these years. I have always enjoyed my visits here, learning about and witnessing the wonderful work being done. My favorite part of any visit to the Priory Group is _not_ seeing familiar faces.” The small audience chuckled as I explained. “Because that means that some patients have been discharged, and new ones have taken the great stride of seeking help.” 

I took a deep breath before continuing. No matter how many years later, it was still always hard to talk about Harry’s addiction. He hadn’t relapsed once, not in almost 20 years; hadn’t even come close. Still, thinking back to that time, to the time when he’d grabbed onto my wrist so hard I thought it would snap, and pulled me so close that I could see his dilated pupils, the sweat beading on his forehead, and insisted that I come back to him, making it clear that he didn’t care if it was against my will or not; thinking back to that time made me sick to my stomach. I think it was worse now, after becoming a mother. Imagining finding James or Lexi or Henry on the bathroom floor, one more pill or injection away from death, the way I’d found Harry, made me start to panic – even just the _thought_.

“Addiction has touched my family in the past, and we had the advantage of being able to receive the best care possible. For people who don’t have those same advantages, the Priory Group offers an incredible top-notch recovery program, with a wide net of support for loved ones and family. That support, however, is only available when one admits that there is a problem. Once that huge step is taken, it is a great comfort to know that those suffering from addictions can turn to a place as wonderful and the Priory Group. With the loving care and support of the Group, it is possible to recover, and come out stronger than you were before, living one day at a time.”

The small crowd clapped and I let out a sigh. Remembering that part of my life was hard, but not as it was for the people who were living that life right now, and if coming here, sitting with them, listening to them, could make them feel even a _little_ better, then I was more than willing to do it. Of course, I hadn’t _always_ been so willing, especially when it put motherhood on hold.

*** 

After the wedding, Harry and I had been so caught up in our newlyweded bliss that we’d thrown caution to the wind and made _several_ attempts to conceive on our honeymoon. None of those attempts had been successful, which I'd been a little upset about. “It’s probably a good thing,” Harry shrugged. “That’s not the in the plan yet.”

My heart sank. He was right about that, a baby wasn’t in the plan yet. Long before we’d gotten engaged, we’d drawn out a roadmap of our future and decided that we wanted a couple of years to ourselves before we had a baby. It had made sense then; I needed time to adjust to royal life, and that would be harder to do if my hormones were out of control and I was the size of a small whale. Now, though, I wasn’t sure why we’d made that stupid plan. “I’m kind of surprised that you’re so eager for it,” Harry admitted. “You didn’t even want to get married.” When I glared at him, he tried to backtrack. “I mean…come on! You know what I mean! It took a lot of convincing!”

“Yeah, well I got on board, and now I want a baby. If I’m going to be married anyway, I may as well be knocked up.”

Harry gave me a flat stare. “That’s so romantic, Fox. Really special.”

I flopped down on the bed, exasperated. “Wait a minute…why don’t _you_ want to have a baby?”  
“You’re not serious,” he insisted.

“Yes I am! You were the one all gung ho about marriage! Why don’t you want to have a baby?”

“Of _course_ I want to have a baby. Preferably with you.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Very funny.”

Harry sighed and sat down on the bed next to me, running his fingers through my hair. With a team of professionals whose sole job it was to tame it, it was surprisingly soft, glossy, and generally looked a lot better than it had for the first twenty-seven years of my life. “I just…I don’t want you to get overwhelmed. _I_ don’t want to get overwhelmed. Let’s give it some time to get used to being part of all this. _Then_ we can talk about babies.”

I figured that this was reasonable enough, even if I did _really_ want a baby. It helped a little that Kate and Bianca had their own babies in the first year of my marriage…but it also had the adverse effect. “Everyone gets to have a baby but me,” I whined to Pippa.

She quivered. “I don’t, thank God.”

“Okay, but you hate babies.”

“I don’t hate _all_ babies,” she offered. “I like Kate and B's enough.”

I snickered. “You’ve sure got that maternal instinct, Pip.” If we were the ladies from _Sex and the City_ , Pippa was a very muted version of Samantha. She was usually less loud about it all…in public, anyway.

After complaining at Pippa, I went home and complained at Harry. I was complaining _at_ him, rather than _to_ him, because he (like Pippa) tuned me out after a while. “Harry, are you listening?”

“Of course I am, Fox.”

“What did I just say?”

“You said that um…you wanted a baby…’cuz everyone else has one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You think I want a baby because everyone else has one? Like it’s a Furby?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. Only less furry.”

“I hate you.”

“Lies, DeLaSearle! Filthy lies!” He could tell that I was getting fed up with him, so he came over to where I’d been scrubbing down the stove (which was already clean…it was just what I did when I was frustrated, a habit I'd inherited from my Marci) and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my forehead.

“What else are we waiting for?” I asked, clearly put out with him.

He sighed. “It’s only been a couple of months, Roxy. You haven’t even done your first event alone, or your first speech,” he pointed out.

“Really?” I snapped. “Really? A solo appearance and a speech will better prepare me for the wonderful world of motherhood?”

Harry rolled his eyes, frustrated by my relentlessness. “Right. What about a compromise?”

“Compromise?” I slowly repeated. That sounded promising…

“Yes, a compromise. You want to get pregnant about yesterday, and I want to wait two years. So let’s get a year under our belts, and then start trying.”

_Score._ I smiled up at him. “Deal.” Then, I paused before asking, “So…wanna get in some practice?”

“Yes."  
***

As annoying as it was, I had to admit that Harry was probably right about waiting. I hadn't even been an HRH for a year yet, and it was…more difficult than I’d anticipated. On our first official event after the wedding, a woman at MapAction had curtsied to me. I’d been totally caught off guard, and my surprised expression was all over _The Daily Mail_ the next day. It seemed like it only went downhill from there. My skirts were too short, but if I went more conservative, I was boring. I didn’t work enough, or I worked too much and people compared it to Kate’s first year and called her lazy. My footwear was inappropriate, my curtsey not low enough, my American accent too abrasive. It didn’t help that I was reading my own press and obsessively googling myself. Some of it was unavoidable, like when I walked past the tabloids or turned on the TV, but I was _actively_ seeking out people’s opinions of me, and it felt like they were all negative.

After one event at a homeless shelter, I immediately got on the internet to read the reviews.

_She looks so awkward! She clearly doesn’t want to be there._

_What is she even wearing?! It’s a homeless shelter! Why would you wear such an expensive dress?_

_Once again, her skirt is too short for royal protocol and she’s not wearing pantyhose. #roxyscrewsitupagain_

_She’s such Jersey trash. I’m honestly not even surprised._

When I burst into tears, Harry peered over my shoulder before shutting the computer a little harder than he probably should have. “Fox! _Why_ do you keep reading this?”

“Because! It’s important!” I insisted, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. 

“That’s the thing, it’s really not. Who cares if they like you? They don’t matter.”

“Yes, they do! If they don’t like me, then it’s all for nothing.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “I mean, not _nothing_. You know what I mean.”

Not wanting to pick a fight, Harry just wrapped me up in a hug. “I know it seems like all people have to say are terrible things, but it’s not like that, really. It just seems that way.”

It was sweet of him to try to comfort me, but…Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He’d been born into all of this, so sometimes he lost sight of just how insane it all was. Yes, okay, there had been times when he’d fucked up to an _extreme_ extent, but for the most part, everyone was totally in love with him. “He’s like the golden boy of royalty. Everyone practically thinks the sun shines out of his ass,” I complained at Bianca.

She switched her crying daughter, Ainsley, from one arm to the other. “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“What is?’  
“They hate you because they’re jealous.” Then, in a baby voice she asked Ainsley, “Aren’t they? Aren’t they so jealous of Auntie Roxy?” Lately, Bianca was incapable of talking in a normal voice for more than three minutes. It probably wouldn’t have bothered me so much if I wasn’t so wildly jealous.

Opening my computer, I clicked open my browser and pulled up the page I’d been frantically checking for months. “Do you see this?” I asked, turning my laptop around so she could see it. “This girl runs an _entire_ blog about how terrible I am.”  
“That girl is morbidly obese, wearing her pajamas, with a dozen cats.”

“Look at this one. This one is a blog that’s _just_ people saying mean things about me. The name of the blog is Foxy Roxy Is The Worst.”

“This is insane.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s insane! People are reading it!”

“No, you misunderstood me. I meant it’s insane that _you’re_ reading it.” Then, in a baby voice to Ainsley, who had stopped crying and started tugging on her mother's hair, “Auntie Roxy’s gone a bit mad.”

I glared at her. “I can’t just _not_ read it, Bianca. They have to like me, that’s why I exist.”

“No, you exist so some people can like you and some people can do that,” she gestured with her elbow to the computer. “Here, take her. I’m going to show you something.” I held my arms out, all too willing to hold little Ainsley. She’d inherited Piers’s ice blue eyes, and seeing as how both parents were blonde, I assumed Ainsley would be as well. She was going to be every woman’s basic nightmare when she grew up. I kissed Ainsley’s tiny palm when she reached it up to me as Bianca tapped away on my computer. Finally, she turned it back to me. “See?”

“See what?” I squinted.

Bianca gestured o the screen. “ _This_ girl runs a blog all about how much she loves you. So does _this_ girl, and _this_ girl. This one’s about you _and_ Kate, this one’s about Harry, but she seems to like you, and this one is about all European royals, but she’s _constantly_ defending you to those other crazy blogs you were reading.”

Slowly, I stared up at Bianca. “How did you find all these?”

She shrugged. “I was on bedrest for four months. I needed something to do.”

I paused before handing her the baby and taking the laptop from her. “Wow, look at this one. It’s all about my clothes. Whoa! They figured out what I was wearing in the Tesco yesterday really fast!”

“It helps that you have one pair of jeans and about three t-shirts.”

“I should tell Ava about this,” I noted. 

Bianca snickered. “Yeah, because she needs another reason to be a diva.”


	142. Repeat Customer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry and I got married in June, and by the wintertime, after my first Sandringham Christmas, the secretary we’d hired to be in charge of our schedules (a man named Marshall Hewes-Alexander-Childress who came from a family more blue-blooded than Harry) decided that it was time for me to go out on my own. “I suggest the Royal Ballet, somewhere you feel comfortable,” he told me in the office of our apartment at Kensington. I decided to take his advice and scheduled my first solo stop at the Opera House. Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t nervous for it at all. It felt like I’d _just_ been there…because I had. Madam curtsied to me, which I found completely ridiculous, but didn’t let it show on my face this time. There were plenty of photo ops with me and the girls, and it felt great to see everyone again. When I got back to Kensington, Harry had cooked a romantic meal (okay, he boiled spaghetti) and covered every surface in the kitchen with bouquets of roses. As soon as I walked in the door, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me all over my face. Before I could ask him what was going on, he murmured, “I’m so proud of you, Fox.”

Ooh…well, that felt good.

I wasn’t looking forward to getting my first speech out of the way (there was a reason that the area of performing art I’d gotten into had been a silent one), but that was part of the deal I’d brokered with Harry. We got a year and my first solo engagement and speech out of the way, and then we could get on with the baby-making. So I was going to have to put aside the fact that a surprising amount of people hated the sound of my voice. I couldn’t help the fact that I was American! What did they want me to do – just start faking an accent? Not to mention that I had to write the whole thing myself, because William, Kate, and Harry all wrote their own speeches and I’d look like a lazy shrew if I didn’t.

The speech was set to take place at the National Centre for Eating Disorders. I’d become a patron of the center due in part to the fact that Bianca had gone there for her recovery. The thing was, I had no idea what to say. I was furiously scribbling down drafts almost every night while Harry suggested, “Just get someone to write it for you. Who would ever know?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered and kept scratching out probably nonsense, “but they’ll figure it out.” I sounded like a paranoid freak, but the media really did always figure out my most embarrassing secrets, or it felt like they did anyway.

I was driving myself crazy (okay, crazier) with the speech-writing, so in an attempt to get me to chill out, Harry suggested a trip to the Surrey house. We had purchased the rest of it from Will and Kate after they’d officially moved into Kensington. We kept it for occasions just such as this – when we needed a break from…everything. Surrey was like being on an entirely different planet. Literally _no one_ cared when they saw us, which they did, often. After all, it wasn’t like we stayed inside all day every day; we went to the movies, to the pub nearby, out for runs, to the grocery store, and no one ever said a thing. We’d been living there part-time for years, so if the other residents of Surrey had ever to being with, they’d gotten over it a long time ago, although to be honest it had never really been a problem. If anything, the county was super protective of us. If they spotted anyone with a camera, they’d point them in the opposite direction, or else tell them to get lost…and not politely.

The weekend was pretty relaxing, but I still had no idea what I was going to write into my speech. Desperate for a distraction, I made a trip to the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner that night. I was in the aisle of the Waitrose when my inspiration was handed to me.

“Did you see that dress she wore to the premiere? It was beautiful.”

“The red one?”

I paused from wheeling my cart out from the cereal aisle. _I_ had worn a red dress to a premiere in the West End last week. Holding my breath, I waited for the review of my outfit from the two girls discussing it. Craning my neck, I could see that they were looking over a copy of _Hello!_ with a picture of Harry and I from that premiere on the cover. 

“Yes, _so_ beautiful.”

“I _know_. She’s so tiny, though, she can probably wear a potato sack and look good.”

“Tiny” was not a word I would have used to describe myself. I’d spent twenty years being told by wardrobe mistresses and instructors that my thighs were too big and my waist not slim enough, not to mention the fact that I actually _had_ boobs. The truth was that I worked _really_ hard to maintain my weight. I didn’t go overboard with it, but my _abuela_ hadn’t exactly been a trim woman. A steady diet of rice, bread, and wine was apparently not good for your waistline, who knew? Considering that I’d inherited all of the other DeLaSearle traits from my dad’s side, it was pretty safe to assume that, if I didn’t keep after it…well, it wouldn’t be a good look.

“Who are these people who are just born incredibly attractive?” one girl asked.

“I don’t know,” the other girl answered with a giggle, “but why can’t I be one of them?”

The first girl giggled, too, before asking, “Do you remember when they all lived together, like it was royal _Friends_ or something?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the second girl insisted. “So cute.”

Cute? I, and my living situation, was cute? To a stranger?

“What do you think they talked about around the dinner table though? ‘Oh, Kate, you’re so fabulous.’ ‘No Roxy, _you’re_ fabulous.’ ‘Your husband is the hotter one.’ ‘No, _you’re_ husband is the hotter one.’”

The second girl laughed. “I think that’s _exactly_ what happened. I bet they sat around in their beautiful dresses and tiaras.”

“Probably.”

There was a pause and I assumed the girls were turning the page of the tabloid. In the silence, I had to be careful not to laugh out loud at their image of what my life was like. One of them answered in a low voice, “Well I think it’s pretty clear whose husband is more attractive.”

“Right?” the other agreed. “I hope she wakes up every day and realizes that she’s the luckiest girl on the planet.”

I did.

“Do you think he’s any good in bed, though?”

_WHAT?!_

“Of _course_! Have you _seen_ that man ride a horse?”

The first girl snickered. “Yeah, but he’s so good looking! He could just go out and sleep with whoever, a different woman every night. He never depended on the repeat customers.”

The second girl let out a loud laugh. “‘Repeat customers?’ He’s not a gigolo!”

“No, but if he was I would pay a _million_ pounds to rent him.”

Okay, I figured now was a good time to make my presence known, before they said anything else they’d be even more humilated by than I was sure that they would be, and it was worse for them. Coming around the corner, I cleared my throat. Both girls looked up, but one quickly looked back down at the magazine, not registering what was happening. The one who was staring at me with eyes the size of frying pans hit the one who’d gone back to the tabloid, and she looked back up, slowly. I saw the blood drain from their faces, and finally, one of them stammered out, “Oh. God.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, I tilted my head back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, and I had to bend over and clutch my stomach, gasping for air. Once I wiped my eyes and composed myself, I apologized to the girls. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

One of them tried to cover their tracks. “We were only joking…about the…gigolo thing.”

“Right. Clearly he’s not a male prostitute,” the other added, earning another smack.

“Oh God, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.” The girls just stood there, waiting for me to go on. “It’s all right, really. I’m not angry.” They both let out audible sighs of relief. “Do you _really_ think that’s what we do all day?”

At the same time one of them replied, “Of course not,” the other shrugged, “I would if I were you,” and got a third smack.

“They don’t like us to take the tiaras home with us,” I added. Then, I took a deep breath and told them, “It’s not natural, you know.” The girls looked lost. “The…the looks stuff. I work out and eat clean and it took two hours to do my make up that night,” I gestured to the magazine, “and they probably _still_ photo-shopped it.”

The girls looked at each other before one of them (the one who _hadn’t_ been smacked three times on account of her responses to me) slowly replied, “With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, you’re in a Waitrose right now, wearing no make up, jeans, and an old jumper,” (Harry’s old, grey Sandhurst sweatshirt, while super comfortable, was not my best look), “and you still look gorgeous.”

“Well, thank you ladies, but honestly, you shouldn’t compare yourself to that,” I pointed to my seemingly perfect complexion again.

They both looked at each other again, and I knew they didn’t believe me. With a weary sigh, I smiled at them and told them that I should be going. They waved and I was about to turn into the next aisle when I stopped and looked back at them. “Oh, and ladies.” They both looked up at me again. “He’s depended on the same customer for ten years, and I can assure you, she has _no_ complaints.” I headed into the next aisle before they could pick their jaws up off the floor.

***

Our trip to the National Center for Eating Disorders, where I’d give my first speech, was in March (or as I liked to think of it, three months before we could start trying for a baby). “Nervous?” Harry asked right before we got out of the car.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’ll be _fine_ , Fox." He gave my knee a comforting squeeze and we got out of the car, exposing us to flashing cameras and film crews. Outside of the Centre we were greeted by its founder, a blonde woman named Deanne Jade.

When I shook her hand, she curtsied and told me, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Likewise,” I smiled at her. “You run a wonderful center here. Thank you for taking me on.”

“It’s an honor, Ma’am.”

Holding back my cringe, I introduced her to Harry and we headed inside. At some other patronages, there would be more people to greet us outside, but in the interest of anonymity (and the fact that girls with eating disorders weren’t too keen on being photographed), we entered the center with limited press and very clear instructions as to who could and could _not_ be photographed. 

Deanne introduced us to the nutritional therapist, psychiatrist, and psychologist. “How do all of your jobs differ?” I asked politely, hoping I didn’t sound completely brain dead. They explained to me their different tasks before Deanne took us through some of the group therapy rooms. Everything was very soft; cream colored walls, sea foam green cushioned chairs, waterfalls, the scent of lavender. “Our treatment philosophy here touches on _all_ of the problems that create eating disorders,” she explained. “There’s behavior, emotions, relationships, the eating disorder mindset, your sense of happiness and purpose, and different psychological approaches to treatment.”

I nodded slowly. All of this sounded familiar from Bianca’s time here.

“We treat all kinds of eating disorders, including anorexia, bulimia, binge and compulsive eating, obesity, and orthorexia.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that,” I confessed.

Deanne smiled patiently. “Not many people are. It’s the creation of a relationship to a specific type of food that you _believe_ is good for your body. Even just the idea of deviating from these foods can cause _extreme_ anxiety, and it’s quite common among those who have suffered from anorexia in the past. We also treat men, which is quite unique.”

“About what’s the ratio, of men to women that you treat?” Harry asked, and my heart melted slowly, like chocolate over a flame. He was being super supportive, taking an active interest in _my_ stuff, just like I did with his. Not that I'd expected him to just sit back and act bored, but for some reason this one question made me feel (for probably the millionth time) ridiculously proud that he was _my_ husband.

Deanne answered him (about 10-15 percent, a higher number than I’d expected, honestly) and showed us the rooms for in-patient care. They also had out-patient treatment and offered monthly workshops for free, for people who weren’t even patients at the center. Finally, she turned to me and offered, “Now let me introduce you to some of the girls.”

She opened a white door that led to a room that was usually used for classes on nutritional counseling. Looking around at all of the girls there brought a flood of memories back to me of when Bianca had been so sick. I tried not to shiver at the thoughts; images of Bianca shouting at us when we asked her to get help, practically foaming at the mouth, or collapsing at a rehearsal because she was so malnourished. Harry placed a supportive hand on the small of my back, silently reminding me to stay strong. I shook hands with the girls, keeping an eye on the one camera allowed in the room. It was trained on a podium, from which I’d deliver my speech, and the cameraman had been given very clear instructions _not_ to turn even an inch.

Finally, when I’d gone around the room and shaken hands with frail, hollow-eyed girls, Harry turned to me. “You’re ready for this, Fox. You’re going to be brilliant.”

I drew in a sharp breath, not sure I believed him. Well, it was now or never…and never wasn’t really an option. So basically just now then. Gulping, I stood behind the podium and unfolded my speech. I looked out at all of the expectant faces, waiting for me to say something. Anything.

“Good afternoon.”

_Okay, good start DeLaSearle._

“I would personally like to thank Miss Jade for giving me a tour of the center, and to thank all of the incredible staff for allowing me to take on the center as patron.”

Taking another deep breath, I tried to talk myself into thinking that this was all going to go well. “In the Waitrose the other day, I overheard two girls talking about how some people were just born beautiful, and it was effortless. It broke my heart to hear that these girls did not think they were included in that group. I was also surprised to find that they thought that apparently, I was.” There was a light chuckle at my self-deprecation. “So I am going to tell you the same thing I told them, which is that all of those pictures you see in magazines, and on the internet, are not real. This might not mean anything coming from me, since I _am_ one of the people in the magazines, but I am here today, asking you _not_ to compare yourselves to that. I promise you that this is not my natural state of being. It takes a team of people to get me ready to get out the door. If you want proof, I’ll show you pictures of me when I wake up in the morning. It’s just…not a good situation. I think I’ll get some back up on this from someone here today.” Everyone looked to Harry for confirmation. He shook his head, feigning panic and refusal to answer the question. The on-lookers laughed and I went back to my speech. “You are all here today because you’re convinced that you have to be something you are not. But I _promise_ you, that’s not true. You are all intelligent, strong, resilient, and beautiful girls, and I know that with the help from the wonderful nutritionists, psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors, doctors, nurses, and therapists, the National Centre for Eating Disorders will help you realize that. Thank you.”

The girls in the crowd clapped and I saw the mother of one of the patient’s wipe her eyes. Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You were _brilliant_ , Fox. That was _amazing_. Absolutely inspiring.”

Well, as my husband, he _had_ to say that. The only thing I really wanted to do now was go check the internet reviews.

***

“So,” Harry started when we got back to our apartment. He was loosening his tie and popping open a Coke. I had made straight for my laptop and was checking the blogs. Apparently, I was a glutton for punishment, because I _immediately_ checked the blogs devoted to bashing me, rather than the nicer ones Bianca had shown me. “What does Foxy Roxy Is The Worst have to say?”

I scanned over the entry for that day. “She says it was too informal and totally inappropriate for an official event,” I told him in a stuffy accent. “She’s not even British! She’s Canadian!”

“Then why do you _care_?” he asked, exasperated.

“I don’t.” I didn’t know it was true until I said it. “Fuck her.”

Harry laughed, impressed. “Whoa! Gloves are off, DeLaSearle!”

Clicking over to the blogs of the girls who were actually my fans, I pointed out, “This girl says I’m an inspiration.”

“You are,” Harry planted a kiss on my nose, looping his arms around my waist.

“So,” I sighed. “I’ve done my first event alone.”

“Mhm.”

“ _And_ my first speech.”

“Yes…”

“So…can we make babies yet?”

Harry laughed. “All right, I guess it’s close enough to the one-year-mark.” And we got started, right there in the kitchen.


	143. Queen of America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

“I’m ready Mummy!” James William proudly declared, standing in front of his tiny carry-on. He’d packed some books, a handful of soldiers and animals, and (as a last resort _only_ ) Harry and I allowed him to take the iPad, on which he was _only_ allowed to play educational games. That was my rule, Harry would let him watch nothing but _Spongebob_ for hours if it kept him quiet. I was hoping he’d sleep for most of the plane ride…but I didn’t think there was a _big_ chance.

“Thank you, love bug.” I brushed some red hair off his face and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Is Lexi ready?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. 

“Well can you go find Daphne or Gretchen please?” Gretchen was the PO who had been assigned to me when Lexi was still in utero. Before we left for a tour the security team went through all of our luggage to make sure...well, I didn't know what to make sure of, I guess if someone had snuck into our house and planted a bomb in Lexi's Dora the Explorer carry-on or Henry's diaper bag? Either way, she'd have just as much knowledge as to where my daughter was as Daphne. 

James William nodded, like a soldier on a mission, and went off to accomplish this task. I jogged down the stairs to the living room, where Kensington staff were zipping wardrobe bags and hanging them on racks or folding them into suitcases. Ava was over-seeing the whole operation, making sure that the outfits were organized by date and venue. Daphne was offering a pacifier to Henry, who was in his carrier, gurgling and blinking up at all the commotion going on around him. I smiled down at him, packing some onesies into his bag. I’d loved this part with James William and Lexi; the part where they were so tiny and had absolutely no idea of the world around them. All Henry knew was that he had two parents who loved him more than anything. 

“Hello baby boy,” I tickled his tummy. He wrapped his tiny fingers around one of mine before popping it in his mouth. I kissed his palm and tickled his stomach again. “Baby’s first royal tour.” He blew a raspberry, causing some bubbles to appear between his lips and my heart swelled up. James William and Lexi would be on display almost as much as Harry and I would be over the next several days. Henry, however, would be safely tucked away, spending the day out of the public eye with my mom, probably snoozing most of the time, completely oblivious to the fact that people were willing to stand in line all day, in the infamous D.C. humidity, just so that Mummy and Daddy might shake their hands. I’d be hot and sweaty, exhausted from an early wake up time, emotionally spent after the charities we visited, feet cramped from wearing pumps all day, and I’d be able to go back to where we were staying, sit down on the bed, take off my shoes, and pick up my baby boy, inhaling his sweet, soft baby scent.

“Right Rox, these are ready to go,” Ava told me as Palace aides marched the outfits out the front door to be taken to the airplane. “See you there,” she kissed me on both cheeks before heading out behind the staff. She was on the phone, probably with one of her girls who would be doing my hair and makeup. Ava had gone from being my stylist, to my wedding dress designer, and back to stylist again. Pretty much the second the wedding was over, she’d been flooded with offers from other potential clients (none of which she took, since I alone was a full-time job), as well as requests from different designers that I wear their pieces. Since I now had tours and appearances to make, her workload had been upped times about a hundred percent, so she’d had to employ a small army of other girls to help her out. She’d complained about it at the time (“Am I the only competent stylist in Britain? Honestly!”), but she _loved_ having a team of people she could boss around.

With Ava and her crew gone, the house was less noisy…but not that much. I took mental inventory of everything that still needed to be done. "Hey Daph, James William just told me he's all done packing. Can you go see if Tom Tom knows so we can take his stuff to the car?" Thomas had been assigned to James William when I'd gotten pregnant, but when the baby was just learning to speak he'd called him Tom Tom, which we all did. Actually...I'd never asked if he minded this or not...well, no time to think about if we were accidentally insulting a grown man at the moment. 

"Sure," Daphne smiled and headed off into the chaos to find either my son or my daughter or Tom Tom or Gretchen or whoever else I'd lost track of. 

Upstairs, my mom was helping the RPOs wrangle the kids (I still had no idea where my daughter had gone) try to get ready to go. Harry was in his office, where I should have been as well, to be briefed on our schedule. “Ma! Can you come finish packing the baby?”

“Not at the moment, Roxanna. I’m trying to get Lexi’s hair under control.” Ah, there she was. Knew I'd find her eventually...

I cringed, feeling guilty about having lost track of her, and the fact that I should have been getting Lexi’s hair under control. My mom had never figured out how to manage the thick DeLaSearle locks I’d inherited from my father and passed on to my daughter. I should also have been the one to pack my baby’s diaper bag. I should _also_ have been back in the office getting prepped on how to support my husband through the military spots on the tour. _Dammit._ “Send Lex down here, I’ll do her hair if you can pack the diaper bag!”

There was patter of feet down the stairs from where my mom followed Lexi. Her curls were bouncing wildly off her shoulders and my mom was holding a brush, looking totally lost. Frustrated (how many times had she tried to brush my hair as a kid and failed, miserably?), I eschewed the brush before taking Lexi by the hand. She whined as I stalked back to the office. “Mummy! You’re hurting!”

“Sorry love bug. Walk quickly.” I opened the door to the office to find Harry sitting behind his desk, being briefed by Marshall. His two-undersecretaries (who handled our individual engagements and patronages) were with him, double- and triple-checking itineraries. We’d gotten Marshall to manage our joint engagements, as well as two under secretaries who handled our solo ones. Yes, our family needed it’s own staff. 

“Ah, good. Her Royal Highness has joined us.” Harry and I had told Marshall to call us by our first names about a hundred times, but he refused. 

Joining Harry behind the desk, I listened to Marshall go over our tour itinerary. Well, okay, a third of me was listening. A third of me was looking over the pictures on Harry’s desk with a swelling heart (one of us at our wedding; our first Christmas with James William; the three of us with Lexi, James William peering into the soft bundle of blankets that was holding his new baby sister; and the last one, which was all five of us at Henry’s christening), and the other third of me was twisting Lexi’s hair into French braids while trying not to hurt her. For once, she actually stayed still and didn't whine that I was "hurting her hair" as Marshall told us all about the events we'd be doing, which ones the kids were coming on, when we'd have any time off. When he was finished, I leaned down to kiss the top of Lexi’s head and gave her a tap on the bottom. “Go ask Gretchen if she's all done with your suitcase and then Mum Mum and Daphne can help you put it in the car.”  
Lexi skipped out of the room to follow my instructions. I turned back to Marshall, letting out a deep breath. “It’s exhausting just hearing about it.”

Harry stood up and wrapped an arm around my shoulders with a squeeze. “It’s not so bad.”

“No, not at all,” I agreed, and not sarcastically. I was now a seasoned royal veteran. Compared to how nervous I’d been on our first royal tour, this one would be a piece of cake. 

By the time Harry and I reached the car, Gretchen and Tom Tom had packed the car with James and Lexi’s suitcases. Henry’s RPO, Jonathan, and put Henry’s blue Vera Bradley diaper bag in the car as well. I strapped the kids into their car seats before jumping in the passenger seat so Harry could drive us to the airport. The RPOs, Daphne, and my mom were in the car behind us. 

“Mummy?” Lexi spoke up from the backseat.

Good God. Every time I heard her say “Mummy” in her sweet, tiny voice I thought my heart would explode. From the driver’s seat, Harry reached over and gave my knee a squeeze. Lexi had that tone, the one she got when she was about to get to the bottom of something, whether it was annoying and tedious for us to explain to her or not. “Yes, lovey.”  
“We’re going to America?”

“That’s correct.”

“You used to live in America?”

“I sure did.”

“Oh.” There was a pause for a minute as Lexi considered this. “Mummy?”

Harry snickered, probably relieved that I was on the other end of her curiosity this time. He'd recently gotten stuck in a "Why?" loop when Lexi had asked why there was "a man with a camera" in Kensington Gardens. ("Because you're a princess." "Why?" "Because Daddy is a prince." "Why?" Because Grandpa is a prince, too." "Why?" "Because Gan Gan is the Queen." "Why?" "Because she was the oldest child of the King." "Why?") “Yes, lovey.”

“Is there a Queen of America, like Granny?”

“There isn’t,” I shook my head.

“Why not?”

I looked to Harry for a simple answer to give her. He chuckled and shrugged, clearly at a loss. “Can we get the girl a juice box or something?” I muttered. 

“Mummy!” James William laughed at my answer, clearly detecting my bullshit. 

Luckily, before I had to think of something to tell her that avoided the complexities of the American Revolution, we got to the runway where the royal plane was kept. Ava was already there, loading our clothes in. Tom Tom, Gretchen, Jonathan, Paolo, Izzy, and Marshall immediately got out of the car and started loading the suitcases. My mom joined us, taking Henry in his carrier onto the plane. I knew I’d have to hold him and give him a binkie as we took off and landed. Babies and airplanes did _not_ go well together.

“Come here Lexi, hold Mummy’s hand,” I instructed, holding my hand out to her. She put her tiny one in mine, using the other to wheel her Dora carry-on behind her. We got on the plane and I got the kids situated before taking Henry out of his carrier. As we made our way down the runway, picking up speed, Harry rummaged around in the diaper bag for a pacifier. The wheels lifted from the tarmac and, sure enough, Henry let out a high-pitched wail. I guessed this was fair, since he never cried any other time. I held him close to me, kissing his soft, dark hair. Harry held the binkie out to me and I popped it in the baby’s mouth. Even with three small children, one of them screaming at the moment, I still felt more comfortable than I had when Harry and I left for our first international tour together.


	144. That Kind of Lux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is set to the song "Royals," by Lorde.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Harry and I had been married for a year before his granny asked us to go on a foreign tour. By the time Will and Kate were married for a year, they’d already been on one and were gearing up for their second. We weren’t sure why she waited so long, but I assumed it was just out of necessity – she didn’t really need us to go anywhere. Plus, Prince Philip had been suffering some health scares and we weren’t keen to be on another continent if anything serious happened. Besides, just because there was nothing official didn’t mean that we weren’t travelling. We’d been to Africa a handful of times, although they hadn’t been on Her Majesty’s behalf. We’d both kind of assumed that she’d send us somewhere sooner than that, which was part of the reason why we’d postponed our plans for a baby. Now that we’d celebrated our one-year anniversary and I’d gotten some milestones out of the way, Harry and I finally agreed that we could get started on those ginger babies I so badly yearned for.

As soon as we’d gotten started, however, the Queen asked us to go out to Greece. Prince Philip was turning 95, and the tour was to celebrate him. The idea of getting morning sickness in the middle of my first foreign tour would have been horrifying if I wasn’t so anxious to get knocked up. In order to figure out if this would be a problem or not, I took what felt like my 100th pregnancy test.

It was negative.

“Well, I’m still not pregnant,” I declared, emerging from the bathroom where I’d made my disappointing discovery. Flopping down on the bed, I let out a frustrated groan.

Harry chuckled. “The doctor said it could take six months at least. It’s only been three.”

“It took Kate like, two days!” Suddenly, I sat up with a gasp. Of _course_ it had taken her no time at all! She’d done all of those crazy, baby-making things, like eating foods with tons of folic acid and mapping out her ovulation! That’s _exactly_ what I needed to be doing! After all, I’d wanted to be a ballerina, so I’d worked my ass off for it; I worked hard to be a good royal, too, and that seemed to be going pretty well. So, it followed that if I put a _little_ more effort into getting knocked up, I’d be preggers in no time!

Unfortunately, I’d have to put my plans for pregnancy on the backburner, since we had our Greece tour to do. “Well, it can only go one of two ways,” Ava offered after I told her, wringing my hands and biting my lip. “Whatever happens, you’ll look fabulous doing it.”

“Oh Ava. You always know just what to say.”

***

_I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh,_  
_I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies,_  
_and I’m not proud of my address_  
_In the torn up town; no post code envy._

**The Duke and Duchess of Sussex landed in Athens today for their first official royal tour after their wedding. It was a warm spring afternoon when the couple emerged from the royal jet. They were greeted by President Papoulias and Prime Minister Samaras, the Duchess in a blue wrap dress and white heels, the color of the Greek flag. If she was nervous about her first foreign tour, she did not show it. Roxy seemed in her element greeting the President and Prime Minister.**  
**The royal couple have a busy schedule ahead of them on their whirlwind tour of Greece, with their first appearance schedules tomorrow morning at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.**

_But every song’s like_  
_gold teeth,_  
_Grey Goose,_  
_tripping in the bathroom,_  
_bloodstains,_  
_ball gowns,_  
_trashing the hotel room._  
_We don’t care._  
_We’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams._

**The first foreign appearance of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex was a wild success today. In the morning, the Duchess respectfully looked on as Prince Harry laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Athens’ Syntagma Square. Hundreds of onlookers came out to catch a glimpse of the royal newlyweds. Roxy looked as elegant as ever in a black Alexander McQueen, with a fascinator and black clutch. She was pictured very carefully examining the inscriptions on the tomb, from Pericles’ Funeral Oration, “and one bed is carried empty, made for the unknown ones,” and “the whole earth is the burial ground of famous men.”**  
**All eyes, however, were on the Duke as he laid the wreath. “He’s so handsome in the uniform,” one observer giggled. “Too bad he’s taken!”**  
**After the service, the Duke and Duchess were taken on a tour of the Acropolis by Mayor Kaminis. The royal couple seemed much more relaxed. Roxy is reported to have worn 7 For All Mankind jeans and carried a Celine bag. Again, fans of the couple came out in droves, and were delighted as the Duke and Duchess often broke off from their guide to shake hands with well-wishers in the Plaka.**  
**“She’s so nice. She asked if we lived here and we said yes, so she said we were so lucky to live in such a beautiful place.”**  
**“Yes, they were both very kind, very interested,” said Mayor Kaminis. “They cared very much about the history of the city. He is Greek, after all!”**

___But everybody’s like_  
_Crystal,_  
_Maybach,_  
_diamonds on your timepiece,_  
_jet planes,_  
_islands,_  
_tigers on a gold leash._  
_We don’t care._  
_We aren’t caught up in your love affair._

__**It’s official: the royals are a hit in Greece. On the third day of their tour of Greece, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex visited RETO Hellas, an addiction center in Athens. Roxy is a patron of two rehabilitation center in the UK. Prince Harry seemed just as interested as his wife and spoke candidly with patients at the center of his own struggles with addiction.**  
**“He said that meditating really helped him out in the early stages of recovery,” said one patient who wished to remain anonymous. “He said it’s a struggle every day, something you have to work at. Which is actually very comforting to hear, coming from him. It’s all very relatable.” The Duchess looked classy and elegant in a printed Vivienne Westwood dress.**  
**The real stunner came later this evening at a performance at the National Opera House. Even joined by other royals, Prince Nikolaos and Princess Tatiana as well as Princess Theodora and Prince Philippos, Prince Harry and Roxy were not to be outshone. Roxanna was absolutely glowing in a gold Jenny Packham dress.**  
**After the performance, the Duchess met with some of the dancers of the Greek National Opera Ballet, who were just as taken with her as all of her other fans in Greece so far. Principle dancer Natasha Siouta was lucky enough to meet the royal couple. “They were adorable. He was making her laugh the whole time. He knows a lot about ballet from her, you could tell how much chemistry is between them,” she gushed.**  
**Maria Kousouni, another principle, also met with the Duke and Duchess and repeated Miss Siouta’s sentiments. “They’re so cute together. I told her that her dress was beautiful, and she said that Prince Harry had gotten it for her for Valentine’s Day once years ago, and she was finally getting to wear it. I told her I wished my husband bought me dressed like that on Valentine’s Day!”**

___And we’ll never be royals._  
_It don’t run in our blood._  
_That kinda lux just ain’t for us,_  
_we crave a different kind of buzz._

**On day four of the Greek British Invasion, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex made their way to the islands Mykonos and Delos. On the latter, Prince Harry and Roxy were clearly awed by the Temple of Apollo as their tour guide informed them of the rich history of the island. “They were particularly interested in the mosaics. They were impressed by how long they’d lasted.” The Duchess was photographed looking obviously impressed by the Avenue of Lions, where there are replicas of statues from the 8th century. “She was enthralled by how large they are. I think they were both very keen to hear that the lions were protectors of the Sacred Lake. Prince Harry said that he’d feel very well-protected by such huge lions.”**

___Let me be your ruler._  
_You can call me queen bee,_  
_and baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule._  
_Let me live that fantasy._

**On the fifth day of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s tour of Greece, royal watchers were handed a clear answer today as to whether or not the couple are expecting. On the island of Paros, the Duchess took a break from her fashionable attire and the couple changed into wet suits to participate in a class with the Aegean Diving College. Their Royal Highnesses took a beginners diving lesson before going on a brief snorkeling excursion, observing wrecks of WWII planes and ancient ruins. “I think they were both very keen to look at some more ruins and corals, but it wouldn’t have been safe for their level of experience. They both kept saying how cool they thought the underwater ruins were,” said instructor Peter Nicolaides.**  
**Could he see a baby bump under that wet suit? “No!” Nicolaides promised with a laugh, “and she would not be able to hide that in a wet suit. I don’t think that most doctors would advise a pregnant woman to go diving.”**  
**Oh, well. It seems that the public, no doubt anxious for another royal baby, will just have to wait a bit longer.**

___My friends and I we’ve cracked the code._  
_We count our dollars on the train to the party,_  
_and everyone who knows us knows_  
_that we’re fine with this._  
_We didn’t come from money._

**The schedule for the royal tour today included a long-awaited journey to Santorini. The Duke and Duchess stopped at the bottom of the cobblestone streets and were introduced to donkey handlers. Most visitors to the island reach the top on the becks of these animals. When asked if the Duke and Duchess would be following tradition, Prince Harry laughed. “No, I don’t think he could hold me, to be honest. That would just be cruel to the animal.”**  
**“And I’m not exactly dressed for it,” noted the Duchess.**  
**Like most stops on their tour of Greece, fans came out to welcome the couple to the island. One lucky girl who got to chat with Roxy says the Duchess was just as excited to visit Santorini as the people of the island were to have her. “She said she’s been wanting to see Santorini since they got to Greece, and that she was really excited to finally be here.”**  
**The evening held another event for Harry and Roxy; a dinner for the Prince’s charity in Lesotho, Sentebale, at the Museum of Prehistoric Thera. Another fashion win for the Duchess in a blue satin dress, as she watched the Prince give a speech on their trip to Greece and his charity. “It’s a beautiful country, one that I’ve been hearing about from my grandfather since I was a child. Roxanna and I are delighted to be here.” Of his charity in Lesotho, the Prince appealed to the preservation efforts of the Greek people. “Lesotho, too, has a rich cultural heritage, one which, without the extreme efforts of ordinary people, such as the effort the people of Greece have put in to preserving their culture, will be completely forgotten.”**  
**Tomorrow finally brings a break for the Duke and Duchess before they move on for a two-day stop in Cyprus.**

___But every song’s like,_  
_gold teeth,_  
_Grey Goose,_  
_tripping in the bathroom,_  
_bloodstains,_  
_ball gowns,_  
_trashing the hotel room._  
_We don’t care._  
_We’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams._

**After a restful day on the island of Crete, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex were back on their feet for an event at the Akrotiri Sovereign Base Area. They visited the base this morning, the Duchess looking fashionable as effort in a printed Erdem dress and teal heels. Akrotiri is one of two of the United Kingdom’s Sovereign Base Areas on the island of Cyprus. Cyprus is a former British Crown Colony, with British Forces Cyprus stationed there to defend the bases. The area is also home to the only Royal Air Force base in the Mediterranean region. Prince Harry spoke with RAF pilots and airmen as well as soldiers about their experiences living on base. One soldier lucky enough to meet the Prince explained, “He asked if I wanted to get back to my family back home, and I said they want to come here, for a free trip to Greece!”**  
**The Duke and Duchess left the base and are off to a tour of the Green Line Walk before an visit to the Museum of Barbarism tonight.**

___But everybody’s like_  
_Crystal,_  
_Maybach,_  
_diamonds on your timepiece,_  
_jet planes,_  
_islands,_  
_tigers on a gold leash._  
_We don’t care._  
_We aren’t caught up in your love affair._

__**Prince Harry and Roxanna, Duchess of Sussex got quite an education in the Cyprus conflicts today when they took a tour of the Green Line Walk in the early afternoon. The Green Line was formerly a buffer zone set up by the United Nations in an attempt to keep the peace between the Government of Cyprus and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus.**  
**“The Duke said it was a bit like the Troubles in Northern Ireland,” said their tour guide. “The Duchess was very moved by it all, as well. At several points she got quite emotional. I think she was a bit surprised to be honest.”**  
**The Duke and Duchess both stopped to pay their respects to the two British soldiers who were shot by Turkish forces. Added the guide, “I think the Duchess was quite shocked at how recent it all still was, how fresh the wounds still were.”**  
**Next up this evening is a somber visit to the Museum of Barbarism.**

___And we’ll never be royals._  
_It don’t run in our blood._  
_That kind of lux just aint for us,_  
_we crave a different kind of buzz._

__**It was a somber night for the usually fun-loving Duke and Duchess of Sussex, as they spent the evening at the Museum of Barbarism. The Museum displys the conflict between Greek and Turkish forces, mostly at the expense of civilians. Most of the casualties in the all-out civil war in Cyprus were civilians. The Duke and Duchess were joined at the museum by Turkish and Greek diplomats, as well as leaders of the Greek Orthodox and Muslim faiths.**  
**One guest remarked of the Duchess, “I don’t think she’d done an event quite like this before. She seemed very surprised by how recently some of those things had happened, how raw some of the wounds still are.”**  
**Still, the Duchess remained composed and dignified in her navy wrap dress. A Muslim Turk who conversed with the Duchess said that she was very relieved that no one anticipated another outbreak of violence. “I told her that it was highly unlikely, and that it all depended on Muslim Turks and Christian Greeks to want a peaceful resolution, and we do. She said she was glad to hear that.”**  
**Tomorrow the couple will continue on to their second day on Cyprus.**

___Let me be your ruler._  
_You can call me queen bee,_  
_and baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule._  
_Let me live that fantasy._

__**After an emotionally charged first day, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex could enjoy more light-hearted engagements on the Cyprus. The morning included a visit to the Petre tou Rominou, or as it is sometimes called, Aphrodite’s Rock, after the legend that the goddess Aphrodite was born from the sea foam there. The royal couple had a great day for the visit, appearing beneath a cloudless summer sky. Roxy was overheard saying that the scenery was “absolutely breathtaking,“ and she and Prince Harry both shed their shoes to dip their toes in the water.**  
**The Duke and Duchess then once again took a break from their normally fashion forward wardrobes, pulling on bright-orange life jackets for a boat safari around the island. The “safari” takes passengers to all of the sights, including around the harbor and sea caves. The Duke and Duchess both took the wheel at times, and steered the boat, which at times was going over 60mph!**  
**After their speedy boat safari, the couple was given a tour of the Tombs of the Kings. The Duke and Duchess were spotted several times fanning themselves off and went though several bottles of water. The Duchess told an onlooker who was lucky enough to get a handshake that “she expected it to be hot, but not that hot!”**  
**The couple will return to the mainland for a state dinner in Athens tomorrow night.**

___We’re better than we’ve ever dreamed_  
_and I’m in love with being queen._  
_Life is great without a care._  
_We aren’t caught up in your love affair._

**One would be hard-pressed to determine who stole the show last night – Prince Harry or his beautiful wife Roxanna, Duchess of Sussex. Harry looked every bit the handsome prince in a white-tie tuxedo. The Duchess looked absolutely stunning in her midnight blue gown and Meander Tiara, on loan from her aunt-in-law, Princess Anne. The one-shouldered gown had draping over one side, causing the Duchess to look as elegant as a goddess.**  
**Prince Harry and Roxanna were joined by President Papoulias and his wife, May, as well as Prime Minister Samaras and his wife, Georgia. The British ambassador and commander from the Sovereign Base Areas in Cyprus were also present. There were other royals on hand, as well. King Constantine II and Queen Anne-Marie joined the Duke and Duchess and other dignitaries at the palace. The King and Queen are relatives of Prince Harry through his paternal grandfather, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. The Duke and Duchess were said to have been discussing how sad they were to be leaving the next day.**

___And we’ll never be royals._  
_It don’t run in our blood._  
_That kind of lux just aint for us,_  
_we crave a different kind of buzz._

__**For their final appearance in Athens, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex visited the charity, Klimaka. Klimaka is a charity that reaches out to the homeless, to inform them of shelters they could be using. Says the charity’s director, “Many homeless simply don’t know that they can come to shelters and get a warm meal and a place to sleep, so we aim to inform them of that.”**  
**The Duke and Duchess spent their time speaking to adults and children alike. Roxanna and Prince Harry had particularly kind things to say to a mother of two, who had taken advantage of a Klimaka shelter. “They said they couldn’t imagine going through this with two kids, and that they thought it took a lot of bravery for me to accept help and try to do what’s best for my girls.” Admittedly, the woman got emotional. “I tried not to cry around them, but when they said that, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”**  
**After their stop, Their Royal Highnesses were whisked away to the Athens airport for their flight back to London. Hundreds of fans had come to see them off and, as the couple waved goodbye, they were both wearing huge smiles on their faces. From the obvious happiness from the Duke and Duchess and the enthusiastic reaction of fans wishing them bon voyage, the Duke and Duchess’s first royal tour was a roaring success!**

___Let me be your ruler._  
_You can call me queen bee,_  
_and baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule._  
_Let me live that fantasy._

*** 

Between Santorini and Cyprus, Harry and I had a free day in Crete. So far, I’d been completely captivated by Greece. You couldn’t throw a rock around here without hitting some sort of ancient artifact. The fact that _real_ people whom I’d read about in my history books _thousands_ of years ago, had _actually_ stood in these places was astounding to me. It made me feel small, regardless of the hundreds of people standing outside, baking under the sun to shake my hand. And the islands. The _islands_! The water was so clear you could see straight to the bottom of the ocean. The beaches were white with sand. No wonder all those ancient civilizations had lasted so long here. Why would you ever leave geographical perfection? 

Or, it would have been perfect, save for one, rather large, news report. We were in Paros when we’d gone scuba diving and snorkeling over ancient ruins under the sea. They were crazy to look at, like something out of _The Little Mermaid_. At any point I expected Ariel to start singing about how much she wanted to be human. That hadn’t happened, to my slight disappointment. We had seen crumbling statues, an old shipwreck, a rusting WWII plane that had crashed into the sea. Of course, the news story of the day hadn’t been how much I’d loved seeing that, how captivated I’ve been by all of it. No, the story that day was that I wasn’t pregnant, because pregnant women don’t go scuba diving, and you would _definitely_ be able to see a baby bump in my wet suit, and I was undeniably bump-less. 

That afternoon, Harry yawned from where he was laying in bed next to me. Hey, it was a rest day, and we’d been doing nothing _but_ resting. He trailed his lips over my shoulder before inhaling…pausing…and asking, “Fox, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s nothing,” I sniffled, wiping under my eyes with the soft, white comforter. 

“Fox,” Harry urged, whirling me around so that we were face to face. I still couldn’t look him in the eye, though, so instead I focused on the curve of his collarbone. “What is it?” 

Biting down on my lip, I shrugged. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.” 

“What are you talking about? You’re not disappointing anyone. Everyone says you’re doing great on the tour, they love you.” 

With a sniffle, I pointed out, “They thought I was pregnant!” 

Harry paused before, clearly somewhat amused asking, “Wh…what?” 

“They thought I was pregnant. And then we went scuba diving, and I’m not, and they’re disappointed.” 

“Who gives a flying fuck if they’re disappointed? They’ll live.” 

“I don’t care if they’re disappointed,” I agreed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, as the tears and snot had started to flow freely again. “ _I’m_ disappointed.” Harry sighed, rolling over on his back and pulling me into him, so that my head rested on his chest. He waited patiently while I tried to explain to him how I was feeling. “I’ve been doing everything – taking the vitamins and eating the right foods and taking my temperature. And still…nothing.” 

“ _Yet_ , Fox. Nothing _yet_. We haven’t been at it _that_ long, it’ll happen when the time is right.” 

“What if it doesn’t?” I asked. “What if…” I couldn’t get out my greatest fear in anything other than a tiny, meek, pathetic voice. “What if there’s something wrong with me?” 

Kissing my temple, Harry tried to assure me, “There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“What if there is?” 

“There isn’t!” 

Clamping a hand over Harry’s mouth, I propped myself up so I could look him in the eye. “Remember when you were leaving for Afghanistan, and you just had to tell me your plan for if…if anything went wrong?” I shuttered at the memory, and Harry nodded. “And remember when I thought I wasn’t getting any offers from dance companies, and we made a plan, like, for the worst case scenario?” He nodded again. “I think we need to do that now.” 

Slowly, I took my hand off Harry’s mouth and settled back down into him. Tracing his fingers up and down my arm, he mapped out a plan for us. “We’ll go to the doctor. On the off chance that there is some sort of problem, which I can confidently say won’t happen, then there are options. Hormone injections, IVF, surrogacy, adoption.” 

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “because I’m sure your grandmother would be thrilled about that.” 

Harry chuckled. “We’ll have a family, Fox. If it means ruffling a few feathers, so be it.” Then, kissing my temple again, he softly repeated, “We’ll have a family.” My heart warmed and I rolled over in our soft white sheets. We may have had to consider those options in the future, but for right now we were going to keep trying the old-fashioned way. 


	145. Three Feels Like Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter was written before the 2016 election.
> 
> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Eight hours after we’d left London, when our plane landed into Reagan National Airport, Lexi was screaming, Henry was screaming, and my only child who was not being as ill-behaved as possible was James William, and that was only because I had desperately agreed to let him watch cartoons on the iPad. Everything had been going fine until about thirty minutes ago. Harry and I had fallen asleep in the back of the plane, where there was a bedroom _twice_ the size of my dorm in college. Lexi had joined us about halfway to the States, waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. Harry and I split on this aspect of parenting, just like we disagreed on the use of the iPad. When my babies came sobbing to me in the middle of the night, you couldn’t pay me enough not to scoop them up into my lap and do whatever I could to make it all better. Harry had been totally accepting of this method until it had started becoming a more frequent event with Lexi. This was one of the reasons he’d been reluctant to try for a third. “We’re already sleep deprived as it is!” he’d pointed out, and I admitted that I understood his hesitation. 

In any event, when Lexi had crawled into bed with us this time, he didn’t put up a fight about it. We were in a place that wasn’t her home, flying over the Atlantic Ocean, en route to a strange location - no wonder the girl was a little freaked out. That meant, of course, that Harry and I spent the night tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable with Lexi splayed out between us, plus one feeding for Henry, only to be awoken by a flight attendant telling us that we had to get in our proper seats for landing. “Mummy,” Lexi, never a morning person (just like her mother), had whined as I buckled her into her seat, “I want to sit on your lap.”

“I know lovey, but Mummy has to hold Henry.”

It didn’t take any more than this to set her off. Just like it had before we left for the Horse Guard’s parade, Lexi’s sweet little face had completely crumbled into tears. Harry placed a comforting hand on my back and kissed my temple. “I’ll take him, you let her sit with you.” 

He was trying to be sweet and I loved him more than anything…but now I felt twice as shitty as I had before. Not only was I a shitty mother who couldn’t be in two places (comforting Henry, who had started to whine due to the pressure change, and holding Lexi) at once, but I was also a shitty wife for assuming that I had to do these things because there was no way that my adoring, loving husband could _possibly_ comfort our children as well as I could. It was a testament to our relationship that Harry plucked Henry from his carrier and waved his tiny, chubby fist at me, before assuring me, “See? It’s okay, Mummy. Daddy and Henry are just fine over here.” 

I was completely exhausted and it was a little early to be considering this, but I knew with 100% certainty that I was going to let Harry get lucky tonight.

Lexi stopped screaming long enough for me to pull her onto my lap and try to smooth down her thick, dark curls. She was completely over her hissy-fit by the time the wheels hit the tarmac. I let out a sigh of relief as she climbed off my lap so that I could stand up. While Tom Tom, Gretchen, and Jonathon gathered the kids’ bags, Daphne and my mom took her their stuff and made straight for the hotel we were staying in (“No, Roxanna Nicole I am _not_ meeting the Clintons after an eight-hour flight!”). Harry swaddled Henry up in a soft blue blanket and placed him gently down in his carrier. The baby opened his mouth and let out a yawn, probably having worn himself out after screaming in pain during our landing. It didn’t take him any time at all to get over it and go back to sleep. “He’s so different from James and Lexi,” I noted to Harry.

“I know,” he agreed, peering over at Henry. “He’s so quiet.”

My heart swelled as Harry kissed me on the cheek before we walked off the airplane behind James and Lexi. The RPOs carried our luggage, but Lexi insisted on rolling her Dora the Explorer suitcase. “I can do it myself!” she told Gretchen when she tried to take it from her.

Gretchen held her hands up in self-defense, just as intimidated by my three-year-old as she'd be a shooter. “All right, if you’re sure.”

“Mummy, hold my hand,” Lexi reached up for me.

My heart pulled a little. “I can’t right now darling, Mummy’s hands are full.” I was holding Henry’s diaper bag in the crook of my arm and my carry-on in my opposite hand. “Hold James William’s hand.” Lexi reached for her older brother’s hand, but he yanked it out of her reach. “James, hold your sister’s hand.”

Turning around, he wrinkled his nose at this command. “I don’t want to.” 

It had taken six years for me to learn the self-control that stopped me from automatically swearing out loud…and I still didn’t master that skill all the time. Now, thankfully, was one of the times when I was successful. My instinct was to snap, “Well do it anyway and stop being a brat! I raised you better than that!” but that was probably wholly inappropriate to say to my six-year-old. Instead, I just pointed out in a warning tone, "I didn’t ask.”

“She walks too slow!” James protested. 

“James William,” Harry sternly intervened. “Don’t talk back to your mother. Hold your sister’s hand.” 

I gave him a look and he nodded, reading my mind. First Lexi before Trooping the Colour, now James William. When had the kids learned that they could completely disregard my authority? I sighed, relieved, as James William pouted and took Lexi’s hand. Photographers lined the tarmac to take pictures of us as we made our way from the plane to the helicopter. The kids toddled together and my heart warmed, even if they were just being little brats five minutes ago. They couldn’t have looked more different – James William with his sandy ginger hair, like Harry, Lexi with her dark curls, like me. Henry gurgled in his carrier and I looked down at him to make sure he was still asleep, and at the same time I made a mental note to work with the kids on listening to me, not just Harry. 

“Mummy, are we going in a coptor?” Lexi blinked up at me with her wide green eyes as we approached the huge helicopter.

“Yes, darling. Just like you do with Daddy and Uncle Wills,” I reminded her. Harry had been completely overjoyed when we found out that our second baby was a girl, but Will and Kate had run a close second in terms of excitement. From the second she was born she was completely pampered like the little princess she was. No amount of pink or frills, however, could stop her from wanting to keep up with her older brother and two older cousins. This included insisting on joining George, Philip, and James William when they went up in a Seahawk with Harry or William.

“I like coptors,” she nodded, clearly a seasoned veteran. I smoothed some curls out of her face and kissed her forehead. 

“Your Royal Highnesses, here, these are for you,” the pilot held out headsets for us. Harry and I fitted the smaller headsets for the kids and Harry helped me and Henry into the helicopter, before lifting the other kids up to me. 

“Now guys, what do you say to the president?” I asked as the helicopter lifted into the air.

“We say thank you for having us, Madam President,” James William repeated what Harry and I had instructed he and Lexi to say. 

“That’s very good, James,” Harry nodded to him, wrapping an arm around him. 

I pointed out the Washington Monument and the White House as we hovered over it. Henry was still asleep, thank God, and Harry took him when we landed. “Don’t you want me to hold him so you can shake hands?” I asked.

“No, no, you do it. You’re the American,” he chided me.

We got out of the helicopter where we’d landed in the garden and I saw President Clinton and her husband waiting up near the house for us. She waved to us and we waved back before waving at the press who were lined up outside. I’d met a lot of people, clearly, but I’d always been such a huge fan of the Clintons that I started to get quite nervous. I had never taken the lead before. Harry was the royal, I was the commoner. Most times, I was concentrated on staying two steps behind him. 

When we reached the Clintons, I held my hand out and heard thousands of snaps from cameras. “Hello Madam President. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I told her before turning to her husband (who was still, in my opinion, the sexiest president since JFK). “Mr. President, I’m a huge fan,” I gushed.

“Well thank you, Your Royal Highness,” he smiled.

“You’re the first president I can remember,” I admitted.

President Bill Clinton frowned. “Oh God, am I that old?”

Blushing, I stammered to cover up my mistake and was relieved when President Clinton took over. “Your Royal Highness, it’s so nice to meet you. Chelsea just loves everything you wear.”

“Oh, no. Most of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing,” I told her. “This is my husband, Harry.”

“Yes, we’ve met,” President Clinton reminded me. Of course they had. Harry had been to the States a handful of times, and the Clinton’s had met the Queen and the rest of the firm more than once. 

Harry shook hands with the Clintons before James William proudly stepped forward. “Thank you for having us, Madam President!” he shouted proudly at her, before giving her a huge grin that showed off one of his missing teeth. 

The Clintons laughed at his excited greeting. “Well hello there,” President Clinton smiled at him, kneeling down to his level. “You’re James William?”

James nodded before throwing an arm around Lexi’s shoulders. “This is my sister, Lexi!” he proudly presented her. Lexi giggled and hugged James William back. My heart was ready to burst and I was relieved that they were getting along in front of the Clintons instead of choosing this moment for Lexi to whine and push her older brother off of her. “And this is our baby, Henry,” James giggled, he and Lexi hopping over to the carrier Harry was holding.

President Clinton looked up at me. “Three? You’re awfully brave,” she noted.

I wanted to tell her that she was wrong – I wasn’t brave, I was insane. I shouldn’t have been making a decision on getting pregnant again when I was juggling getting James William to school on time, trying to get Lexi to stop climbing into bed with Harry and I, and doing my actual job. If I was smart, like Hilary Clinton, I would have had one, well-behaved incredibly bright girl and stopped because I would have realized that my life was going to be crazy from now until the end of time. For some reason, this thought hadn’t occurred to me, even after a wedding watched by millions of people around the world, so I’d stuck to my guns about having an entire soccer team of kids. So now I had, as Kate had put it on the balcony, an entire litter of children who pitched fits, had no intention of obeying me, and had inherited stubborn streaks from both of their parents. I wanted to tell the first woman president of the United States that “brave” was not the correct adjective to use in this situation, so much as “naïve” or “out of my ever-loving mind” might have been. Instead, I assured her with a laugh, “We have lots of help. And believe me, they’re never this well-behaved.” 

The President gave me a kind smile. “I felt exhausted all the time, and that was just with Chelsea.”

I nodded. “Before I had Henry my mom told me that they say one baby feels like one, two feels like two, and three feels like seven.”

“Was she right?” she asked politely.

“No,” I shook my head. “Three feels like nineteen.”

The Clintons chuckled (even though I wasn’t 100% kidding) and lead us into the White House. “Have you ever been here before?” the former President Clinton asked me.

“Yeah, in the sixth grade,” I smiled, just a little embarrassed. “Class trip. You were still president then. It was amazing.”

“Yes, those were amazing years,” he agreed with a smirk.

“This one time, after George Bush won the second term, I started crying and my mom asked me what was wrong and I said, ‘I miss Bill Clinton.’” I wasn’t really sure why I’d confessed this, but now that it was out of my mouth, I really wished I hadn’t. “Wow, that was embarrassing, I don’t know why I said that.” 

Harry chuckled from behind me. “Maybe we’re done talking for the moment, darling,” he suggested.

The Clintons laughed and didn’t try to hide it. I don’t think they were laughing at me, exactly, but it was still pretty embarrassing. “Madam President,” Lexi asked, tugging on President Clinton’s hand, "are you the Queen?”


	146. Nirvana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that ages and dates have been changed from reality to better suit the story.

Considering the fact that most days it felt like we had an entire football team of children, I felt a little embarrassed remembering the early days of my marriage, when I was sure that I was completely barren. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and I certainly didn’t think it was the requirement of women everywhere to make babies, but I _wanted_ babies. I hadn’t always been so sure that I wanted to be a mother; my career had come first for the majority of my life. It took me a while to figure it out, but once I did, I committed to the (albeit cliche) fact that I wanted little ginger babies with Harry. Now that I was all in, I was distraught at the thought that there was something amiss with either one of us, making it impossible for us to get pregnant. Since there had never been anything like adoption or surrogacy in the Firm, I also felt hopeless as to our other options. 

“Fox, you’ve _got_ to calm down. It’s probably the stress,” Harry pointed out once we returned from our tour of Brazil. It was our second, and it had gone incredibly well. It even included a three-day camping excursion in the Amazon which, while slightly terrifying, had been amazing.

At this point, Harry and I had been married for a little over two years, and we’d been trying for kids for _months_ …but they felt a lot longer. “What if it’s not stress?” I asked him. “What if it’s something worse than that?” Back in Greece, when we’d first started trying, Harry had assured me that we’d get everything checked out if we still had problems conceiving. That hadn’t happened, though, because neither one of us was keen on that information getting out there. Since Harry and I had dated for nearly a decade before etting married, it meant that I’d gotten some hard lessons in discretion, but it also meant that we really had no idea if there was a problem or not. 

Harry, at a loss, just shrugged and let out a sigh. “Look…give me some time, Fox. I’ll try to…sort things out.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that – if he was going to try to get his little swimmers tested, if he was going to ask his granny about adoption. Whatever it was, it didn’t exactly fill me with confidence and joy. “In the meantime,” he smirked at me, “we may as well keep trying on our own.”

Well, he had a point there.

***

Grace told me once that the way she found out she was pregnant with Eddie was that she woke up from a dream and just knew. She’d shaken Ray awake and told him she was pregnant. A baby wasn’t in their plans yet, and he was half asleep, so he’d told her it was just a dream and she should go back to sleep. She did, but a month later a doctor confirmed what Grace already knew to be true. It was just intuitive sometimes, she told me. 

So, just a few weeks after our conversation that had ended with Harry assuring me that he’d try to “sort things out,” when something was off, I knew exactly what it was. I knew what it was because I had no idea what it was. I was tired, which was strange because since the tour of Brazil, Harry and I hadn’t been doing anything that taxing. The Queen had even given us a nice vacation in the south of France for a week when we’d come back. So I really had no reason to be as tired as I was, and I had been wholly unmotivated to do my morning workouts with the girls. Pippa, B, Kate, and I usually went for runs in Kensington Gardens, followed by yoga or pilates, but lately I couldn’t muster up the energy. That wasn’t actually that strange, since working out was never my favorite thing anyway, but I could usually at least get out of bed for them, even if I was half-assing my way through bridge pose. For the past couple of days, though, I’d simply slept through my alarms, only to wake up when they all barged in for our post-workout breakfast of egg whites and tons of coffee. 

Also, I wasn’t really hungry. This was especially alarming, because I was always hungry and loved food. Bianca, of course, was watching me like a hawk. Not only had she known me the longest, and therefore was the most knowledgeable about how much I enjoyed eating, but she was also on the lookout for any disordered habits that may have developed. I promised her that I was sure it was just a cold. “Does it feel like a cold though?” Pippa asked.

Shrugging, I answered, “Not really. But I feel sort of achey, like I might have a fever.”

Kate reached out and placed the back of her hand to my forehead. “You feel a little warm,” she acknowledged.

“Ugh. I wish I knew what it was. I don’t want to go to the doctor,” I complained.

“I bet I know what it is,” Kate smirked, popping a bite of egg white into her mouth.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What?”

She didn’t say anything else, just gave me a sideways glance. I shook my head discreetly, not wanting to make my suspicions known yet. Then Bianca changed the subject and started hassling me to start working out with them again. I promised I would get up tomorrow and go with them (but I honestly had no intention whatsoever of doing that).

Later that day I was meeting Ava for a shopping trip on the High Street. I wanted to get some new stuff to wear to Balmoral in a few weeks, and I needed Ava there to approve everything. I wasn’t having much luck. It was one of those shopping trips that women sometimes have when you bring twenty things into a fitting room and _none_ of them look right. “Maybe it’s because we’re in Whistles,” Ava hissed through the curtain between the dressing room and the waiting area for poor, impatient souls like her.

“Ava, it’s Balmoral. I’m not going to buy a custom-made gown that I’m going to wear for approximately two hours,” I reminded her. Besides, I usually never had any problems finding something in a retailer like Whistles, Warehouse, or Zara. My lack of clothing finds was probably just because I was feeling gross. I had just un-tucked a brown silk button down from a khaki knee-length skirt and was pouting at myself in the mirror. My skin was clammy and kind of pale. I looked like the belly of a fish. Finally, I decided to just suck it up, and opened the curtain to the dressing room.

Ava wrinkled her nose at my outfit and shook her head. “Roxy, good God, no.”

“I know,” I assured her before motioning for her to join me in the dressing room.

She did, reluctantly. “I don’t think even I could fix this,” she gestured to me.

“Then what am I paying you for?” I smirked. She stuck her tongue out at me and started going through the rest of my things. Finding a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, she held them up to my waist. I yanked them away from her. “I have a thousand pairs of skinny jeans, I don’t need new ones. I need a skirt…lots of skirts, actually. Anyway, I don’t care about that right now.”

Blinking, she asked, “Okay. Then what?”

Taking a deep breath, I whispered, “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Wow, Roxy, we should not be talking about this right now,” she instantly pointed out, searching the room for security cameras.

“It’s the dressing room, they don’t have cameras in here.”

“Well they have other customers,” she insisted, poking her head out of the room and making sure that there wasn’t anyone within listening distance. When she was sure we were clear, she turned back to me and flashed a beaming smile. “Well…Roxy! That’s great!”

Wringing my hands, I asked, “Is it though?”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been bitching for over a year about not having a baby, and now you’re worried about it?”

Biting down on my bottom lip, I tried to explain. “I guess I just got so used to not getting pregnant that I’m a little…I don’t know what.”

Ava reached up and smacked me upside the head. 

“OW AVA! WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Whatever you are, get over it!” she insisted, before hissing, “You’re finally going to have a little ginger prince or princess!” 

I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Okay, maybe we _shouldn’t_ be talking about this in here.”

“Right then, get back in your own clothes. Now,” she ordered, and left the dressing room. It was a curtain so she couldn’t slam the door behind her, but with the force she used to shut it behind her I could tell what she meant to be doing.

Once I had changed, Ava and I headed back to KP. Harry was in Wales with William on an official event, so the house was empty, which I was relieved about. If he saw me now, he’d know immediately that something was up, and I didn’t want to tell him anything until I was 100% sure. I tossed my purse on the island table and flopped down in one of the armchairs in the living room. Ava stood, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised. “So?”

“So what?” I muttered, feeling butterflies start fluttering in my stomach.

“So you have to find out!”

“Well I know that. But it’s not like I can just run out to the Boots and buy a test.”

She nodded again a few times, looking concentrated. Then, her expression changed. “All right, I’ll have one of my girls pick one up and then come here. They won’t recognize her and she’ll be quiet about it.” I agreed to this plan and Ava rummaged through her purse for her phone. “Hey Miranda, it’s me. Listen, I need you to pick me up a pregnancy test at Boots and then bring it to Roxy and Harry’s. Yes, it’s for me. Yes, I’ve been having lots of sex! It doesn’t matter with who, just do it!” Hanging up the phone with an eye roll, she tossed her phone back in her purse. “Honestly, these girls. You’d think they’re my friends, not that they work for me.”

I smirked. Ava couldn’t actually be mad about this. She and I were friends in a totally inappropriate way for someone who worked for me. Kate and Will were like that with all of their staff as well. I didn’t think Her Majesty would have thought this sort of conduct was acceptable, but when everyone was young it made it easier. Besides, you had to be really close with these people. I had to trust Ava with things to make her feel like we did actually have a relationship. That way, she was more likely not to sell secrets because she felt loyalty to me. Also, we just liked each other. Ava had been a bit of a rough diamond in the beginning but over the years we’d definitely bonded. 

We tensely waited for Miranda to arrive with the test. When she did, Ava met her outside and brought the test to me. She held it out for me to take, but I didn’t. “Roxy. You’re going to have to piss on this.”

“Yeah, I know how to do it,” I snapped. “I just…don’t want to.”

“Well do it anyway, because I can’t stand the anticipation.”

Laughing, I shook my head. “Ava, I love you, but if Harry ever learned that you were the first person to know that I was pregnant, he’d kill you. And probably me.”

Annoyed, she insisted that tomorrow we’d have to go back out to find new clothes for Balmoral. I told her I’d be on board and spent the rest of the day on the couch under a blanket watching black and white movies, letting the lavender box with my future in it sit on the coffee table in front of me.

***

Harry and William were at their RAF event in Wales and it was going to take the weekend (I highly suspected that this was of their own design), which was fine with me. For some reason, I didn’t want him to know anything about it, not even that it _might_ be possible. After all, there had been a handful of times I’d just been absolutely _certain_ that this time I was pregnant, and I’d been mistaken. I didn’t want to disappoint him again. I made sure that I was alone, completely alone, before I went into the bathroom and opened the lavender box. Shaking out the test, I opened the thin paper of directions and read it before sitting down to pee. It was going to take five to ten minutes. Ten minutes seemed like a long time to wait. Pregnancy tests had been around forever – wasn’t there a faster way? 

I waited in the bathroom with the door locked, telling myself that I was acting like a crazy person. There weren’t even any staff around. I was literally the only one in the apartment. My stomach churned and my legs felt numb as I chewed down on my thumbnail, impatiently waiting for the test to either show me two lines (yes) or one line (no). With frustrated tears, I wondered when I’d gone from being baby-crazy to horrified at the prospect of pregnancy. Not that my being a coward was anything new. Why was I so afraid of everything all the time? Why had I been so afraid to commit to Harry, even when we were just dating? Why had I been so afraid to get married? And why was I afraid now to possibly be having his child? I loved him, I’d always loved him. He was my favorite person on the planet. No one made me laugh as hard as he did, and even in the throes of a knock-down-drag-out screaming match, I still knew that he loved me more than anyone else in the world. He’d supported me through every little thing – teaching me how to be a royal, supporting me on our joint engagements, always coaching me through my speeches and assuring me that my solo visits would go over smoothly. He protected me from his step-mother, he paid for my mother to move close to us, he got along with my sister (sometimes better than I did). Why was I so afraid of a tiny little baby who was half Harry?

Of course, the baby would also be half me, which was a less pleasant thought. I was way more neurotic and awkward than Harry, but maybe he would get all of Harry’s traits and a few of my better ones.

It then occurred to me that I’d just thought of the baby as a boy. For the first time, the baby wasn’t just an “it,” or a possibility. Looking back up at the clock, I realized that ten minutes had passed. I also realized that I wanted to have this baby more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life, even to be a ballerina. I wasn’t sure why I’d been so unsure about it for the past couple of days, especially after two years of being disappointed. I wanted to be pregnant. I wanted to hold a little baby boy with tiny orange hair in my arms and nuzzle him and give him baths and pinch his chubby thighs and hear his gurgle in the night. There was a huge lump in my throat as I stood up, on wobbly legs, and peered over the pregnancy test.

They say that before you die you experience just a few seconds of complete peace. You achieve nirvana or something. For a brief second, I was terrified that I was about to die, because when I saw those two little pink lines, I had achieved complete bliss and happiness.

***

Since I couldn’t handle anything like a normal human being lately, I was being really sketchy about telling Harry I was pregnant. While he was in Wales with William, I spent the rest of the day pacing around the house, thinking of how to tell him, and then of how we’d announce to the public, and then of all the things that needed to be done before the baby (which I had decided was a boy) arrived. He called that evening after the event to tell me that they were on their way back to London, and I bit down on my bottom lip, desperately trying to keep the secret. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone when he was miles away.

Apparently, I didn’t want to tell him when he was back at home, either. I’d made dinner (which, I was pleased to find, I was getting better at) and had planned on telling him then. Instead, he came home, red-cheeked and clearly excited by the day he’d had with the air force. “It was so cool, Fox. You should see some of these new helicopters they’ve got, they’re amazing.”

“Mhm,” I nodded distractedly, running my fork through my mashed potatoes. 

“It’s always nice to be out with William without the whole family.”

My head snapped up and I suddenly wasn’t distracted anymore. “Um…what?”

Harry shrugged. “You know, just with the guys. Don’t have to worry about runny noses or Kate trying to get them under control.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I asked, “So…you’re saying that their children are a burden?”

Harry thought about this for a minute. “I guess, yeah.” He quickly followed up with, “A burden that they love and is amazing. But they’re still…burdensome.”

When I got up from the table, my chair scraped against the tile and I put my dishes in the sink with a loud clang. “You know Harry, maybe _that’s_ the reason we've had a hard time conceiving. Because you don’t want kids.” Okay…I was being crazy. Was it too early to blame it on the hormones?

Baffled, Harry let out a scoff and blinked. “What are you talking about? You sound like a mad woman.”

Yes, he’d walked right into my trap. It was the classic trick I (and probably all women) used when they wanted to pick a fight. “Oh, so now I’m a crazy woman.”

“No,” Harry patiently corrected me, the same way he had about a million times in the past (and likely would a million more in the future). “I said you _sounded_ crazy.”

I ignored this completely rational explanation entirely. “Well if I’m just _so_ crazy then maybe you should go…out and…have fun…with no kids!” Okay, even I knew that one didn’t make even a little bit of sense. 

With a weary sigh, Harry stood up. “Right. I’m going to my office. Got to look over my schedule this week. You can just stay here and do,” he gestured to where I was standing at the sink, “whatever it is that you’re doing right now.”

Well…shit. I’d fucked that up royally. I could have just told him I was pregnant like a normal human being, all giddy and excited about it. Instead I’d picked a fight and now he didn’t want to be around me, at least for the moment. “Henry Charles Albert David, don’t you walk out on me right now!” I shouted as his back retreated towards the door.

He turned around, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to say something that wasn’t crazy.

Letting out an angry puff of anger, I finally revealed, “I’m pregnant!” The words flew out of my mouth like daggers, even though they weren’t meant to be used that way. Harry’s face didn’t change at all. I didn’t think he’d actually heard what I’d said. He’d listened to the words coming out of my mouth, but he hadn’t actually _heard_ it. “And…I’m kind of scared about it,” I finished lamely.

Harry finally registered the shock on his face. He blinked a couple of times. “You’re…what?” 

“I’m pregnant. And it’s scary. So please don’t be mean to me right now.” This was a little unfair. I was the one who had started being a huge bitch to Harry for no reason. 

Like a zombie, Harry trudged over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. An uncontrollable grin spread across his face. He was obviously still confused, but happy, too, which I took as a good sign. “Scared? What is there to be scared about? We’ve been trying to get pregnant – we wanted this, remember?” Before I could answer, he shook his head, like he had just come up from being under water. “You’re pregnant? We’re having a baby?” he asked again, once more for good measure.

When I nodded, he went in to kiss me, but I pulled away. “Harry, why aren’t you seeing this for the horrific experience that it is?”

Raising an eyebrow he asked, “Do you think there’s a slight chance you’re being a bit dramatic?”

Ignoring this question, I continued. “You’re not thinking about what this really means, Harry. I’ve always been little, and I’m going to blow up to the size of the Hindenberg. And I’m not going to be able to shave my legs because I won’t be able to lean over! And I’m not going to be able to control my farts!”  
He gave me a curious look. “We’ve lived together for ten years, and _now_ you’re worrying about that?”

“We’ve never lived together when I was 500 pounds!” I cried hysterically. “And my feet are going to get gross and swollen. And I’m going to have nasty stretch marks, and varicose veins. It’s going to be disgusting, and you’re going to think I’m disgusting!”

Harry’s hands were still on my shoulders and he gave them a squeeze. “Roxy, I do know what pregnant women are like.”

“No, you don’t. You know what pregnant women on sitcoms are like, when they only gain weight in their tummies, and it all just magically disappears after they give birth, and there’s some water-breaking drama. That’s not what being pregnant is actually like. It’s _actually_ worse!”

“Do you think that my brother hasn’t told me what it’s like? Or Peter? Or Mike? Do you honestly think that Mike Tindall hasn’t told me all of the gross, disgusting parts about pregnant women?” he asked. I had to give him that one. Mike had probably delighted in telling Harry all the gory details. Harry pulled me closer to him and murmured into my hair. “Roxanna, I _want_ to have babies with you. I want you to be the mother of my children. And I want to be there for every second of it. I want to massage your swollen feet, and run out in the middle of the night when you have cravings, and hold your hair back when you have morning sickness, and let you break my hand when you’re finally ready to push. I’m going to be here, Roxy, every step of the way, disgusting or not, and I promise I’ll love you even more for it, never any less, not even a little.”

It was easy for me to accept every word he was saying as true, because he was Harry, and Harry never lied to me. I felt my body relax against his, sighing into him, completely relieved. When I shut my eyes against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, I saw a red-haired baby with round, blue eyes, wrapped up in a blue blanket, giving me a big, toothless grin. “We have to think of names,” I softly reminded Harry.

Suddenly, he jumped back away from me, like something had scared him. “Wait a minute,” he paused. “Is this really happening? Are we really having a baby?”

I nodded, laughing. “I wouldn’t pull a prank on you this cruel.”

He wrapped me up in a hug again, rocking me back and forth. “I’m so happy, Roxanna. Do you realize how happy you’ve made me?” My heart pulled as my mind flashed back to the handful of times he’d said this to me before: the first time we’d said, “I love you,” when we’d gotten back together after a year apart, when I got an offer from the RBC and decided that I’d stay in London for a few years before we got married, and when I said “yes” to his proposal. _Yes. This was a good choice, DeLaSearle. He was a good choice._ I tilted my face up to his so he could plant an enthusiastic kiss on my mouth. “We have to tell our parents,” he thought out loud when we pulled away.

“Can we not?” I asked. “Just for a little while? Just so we can just have this… just us?” 

Understanding, Harry nodded. “Of course.” He slipped his hand under my shirt then, spreading his fingers out over my stomach. There was no bump yet, not even close. Still, this didn’t stop Harry from talking to our microscopic son. “I love you. I can’t wait to meet you.” 

I think that was when it hit me. I was really pregnant, this was really happening. By the time Harry looked back up, my eyes were stinging with tears, but I could see that his were rimmed red, too. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him, letting myself feel nothing but that blissful nirvana again.


End file.
